


Stragglers

by thericeraven



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Lovers, Gay Panic, Getting Together, I'm not completely cruel, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Past Jet/Zuko (Avatar), Past Sokka/Suki (Avatar), and makes a flamethrower out of ax body spray, and salts about beef jerky, sokka rickrolls the zombies, the kyoshi warriors play softball, they both meet their exes in the apocalypse, this is a story about love and life and humanity and war, what are the chances, zuko gets tasered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:15:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 64,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thericeraven/pseuds/thericeraven
Summary: straggler/ˈstraɡlə/something that grows or spreads irregularly or apart from others of its kind.Wow. Even when the world was ending, Sokka had still found a way to be super fucking gay. Maybe he should win a trophy or something for this shit. Were his standards slipping because he hadn’t actually seen another human being in ages, or was the dude actually really, really good-looking? Unconscious, but still cute.The world had ended. Well, it was supposed to. The city was only a reminder of the struggle that had taken place between zombies and humankind. A city’s worth of panicking people shoving and screaming and running, trying to avoid either getting crushed by desperate drivers or getting mauled by a horde of zombies—it didn’t get much scarier than that.There are many ways to survive the end of the world, but what comes after? What is there for a survivor? What keeps someone living when the whole world is wasting away? What keeps them fighting for something more than survival, fighting tolive?Isn't it ironic that some only find out what living truly is when everybody around them is dead?
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Ty Lee (Avatar)
Comments: 98
Kudos: 91
Collections: Zukka Big Bang





	1. The Grocery Run

**Author's Note:**

> to nobody's surprise, I've created a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4810tXp3dv0N0JsS5dfyo0?si=gKv5WnUXSYmrZG5BZDqSrQ).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been playing with the idea of post-apocalyptic zukka for a while now and I've finally written it.

The gravel crunched under his feet, the heat heavy on his back.

Zuko had been walking for days, and he had only just breached the city center. 

If the zombies didn’t get to him first, the heat exhaustion would. The sweltering sun was bearing down hard, threatening to pin him down to the road and never get back up. There was barely a wisp of cloud in the stark blue sky. Spots of light were fading in and out of his vision, his head swimming with a weight that he tried to blink through. The patchy cotton undershirt clung to his skin and the dry itch at the back of his throat prickled higher, making his every step heavier as he trudged past the abandoned cars.

Most of the car windows had been smashed, the hoods and doors adorned with dents and scrapes—no doubt the only evidence left here of the struggle between zombie and humankind. Thousands had tried to flee the city through the highway that day, but only the survivors now knew how much of a death trap it had been. A city’s worth of panicking people shoving and screaming and running, trying to avoid either getting crushed by desperate drivers or getting mauled by a horde of zombies—it didn’t get much scarier than that. It wasn’t hard to imagine the horror of being trapped in the midst of a frantic crowd while the hordes raged on outside, tearing and ripping people from their cars.

Nowadays, Zuko no longer stopped to wonder if the dark splotches staining the concrete under his feet were dried blood or engine oil.

He had to keep walking. 

God only knew what would happen to him if he didn’t make it back out by sundown.

Shaking his head, he marched on. 

He had been dreading this journey for about a week now. Just the night before, he had eaten the last of his rations and now he was running on an empty stomach and barely two sips of water. He was also running low on first-aid supplies, and that was the equivalent of a death sentence in these challenging times. There weren’t exactly any pharmacies or hospitals just lying around in the countryside, and Zuko would personally prefer not to die bleeding out in the wilderness all because he couldn’t get to a roll of gauze and some antiseptic in time.

The wind whistled through the streets.

He was alone now, and that was a privilege he knew wouldn’t last. 

Soon he would reach the heart of the city, where the most damage had been done. It was a ghost town—bursting with an overwhelming emptiness and filled with a deafening silence—not a single soul around to hear your screams. Of course, it was also crawling with hordes of zombies, uncannily dormant and docile until the slightest sound set them all rushing and snarling towards the nearest human. It was like setting off an explosion, and Zuko was no stranger to the heart-stopping experience. 

He crouched behind a car, surveying the wreckage.

The supermarket looked to be in one piece, but could he say the same for himself after this whole ordeal? The entire row of shops appeared to be deserted, the only sign of life a few rats scurrying around and nosing about in the debris looking for food. They weren’t so different after all—humans and rats—every last living creature just trying to survive the night, scouring the ruins of a civilization for hope of a new tomorrow. Hope that might never come.

A crooked figure ambled into view.

Zuko had never particularly liked zombie movies, and now he was doubly clear on that stand. The ugly bastards were deceptively slow, and reeked till the high heavens. Well, that and the fact that they  _ ate people _ . Zombies were walking, undead shells of what used to be human, replaced with nasty and feral creatures that had no minds of their own—only roaming the earth to kill and multiply. If he took a closer look, he could see the trace of a face that used to smile and laugh and cry and talk, and the vaguely humanoid silhouette of a spine and limbs and legs when they straightened up—but the similarities ended there. There was nothing human about the way a zombie lumbered through the streets, snapping and swivelling to every little noise, a mouth full of rotten teeth and flesh hanging off their bones. 

Their numbers were only spreading, with no end in sight. At least it was fast, even if it looked like hell on earth—the way someone writhed and screamed in agony as the zombies tore them apart, the sound drowning out to their joints cracking and giving way as the virus took over their body. Their mind and body and soul lost to a disease that plagued billions across the planet. It had spread faster than any pandemic the world had ever seen, consuming the earth in a vicious, bloody rage. Survivors were far and few, and it could be weeks at a time before he even saw another living and breathing human being. 

Zuko dreaded to think of a day when he might lose himself and become one of them. 

Wrinkling his nose at the acrid smell of smoke, he peered around the car again.

The supermarket looked relatively empty, which was always a good sign. Zuko certainly did not need random zombies popping out of nowhere while he was trying to scour the shelves for something edible. There was a pile of rubble blocking the only entrance, mostly obscuring it from view on the outside but he reckoned that he could clear that if he ran and jumped. In fact, it could work to his advantage. The sign hanging over the entrance sat crooked and battered on the wall, a faded-out bunch of words printed over the scuffed plastic. He could guess the name of the place, a once-popular chain that he used to like frequenting for groceries. Groceries.  _ Huh _ . Technically, he was currently in the middle of a grocery run—in some kind of twisted roundabout way. 

Zuko  _ was _ in the mood for beef jerky, but he was also in the mood to keep all his limbs intact. Was the inherent satisfaction of salty meat worth risking zombification for? Well, he would have to find out. He was so hungry that he was getting delirious at this point. What he wouldn’t give for a nice, hot meal somewhere safe where he didn’t have to worry about some asshole zombie crashing through the wall and tearing his shoulders off.

Speaking of which, more of the undead fuckers stumbled into view, scattered across the stretch of road standing between him and his beef jerky.  _ Outrageous _ .

There were too many zombies and too much road to use a simple distraction. Even he couldn’t throw a piece of debris that far. Looks like he would have to make a compromise with his exhaustion and suck it up after all.

Sighing, he grabbed his blades. 

_ Beef jerky, here I come _ .

Darting out from behind the car, Zuko ran out into the open. His steps were quick and light, his grip tight on the machetes. There were four zombies in view; if he wasn’t careful with his next steps, a lot more would be on their way. As long as he kept all the zombies on his right, he should be able to keep his cool and get where he needed to be. 

Lunging with his blades, Zuko made quick work of the zombie from the back. A slash across the nape and a slash across the back of its knees sent it tumbling to the ground as he made a quick getaway, leaping behind a car. Holding his breath, he could sense the other zombies whipping around, trying to identify the source of the sound. They were much closer than he would have liked, but he couldn’t afford to move and be seen. They wandered over to the fallen corpse, the ugly scrape of hanging bone and skin dragging across concrete. The head was still twitching in place, trying to get back up as its body lay limp.

Zuko was doing pretty well when it came to incapacitating them. The only times he had seen someone kill a zombie was through fire, an explosion, or crushing them with a tractor while sipping a beer and singing a sea shanty (that one’s a long story). If the movies had taught him anything, it was to go for the head. So he did. Their heads remained animated even though they couldn’t move their bodies, and would twitch around for a minute before it went cold. It was horrifying. 

They were dangerously close, sniffing around for the tantalizing smell of live human flesh and a host to infect. Zuko tried not to shift, the blood sticky on his skin. Sweat and pig’s blood wasn’t a good combination under the sun, but it was a necessary evil. He was so glad he had stopped being able to smell himself about two hours ago. 

But what he could smell was the gut-wrenching stench of rotting flesh as the zombies drew closer, and it was truly a miracle that he didn’t just hurl out his guts on the spot. The groaning and hissing wasn’t easy on the ears either—it was the sound of death and decay, an echo of what used to be alive, the sounds menacing and very real.

The pig’s blood stopped him from drawing any unwanted attention of the zombie nature, but it didn’t stop him from drawing the unwanted attention of the insect nature. A cloud of flies had gathered around him, and it was taking him every inch of his willpower not to swat at them and give himself away. The buzzing in his ears was getting unbearable. Clenching his teeth, he waited out the worst of it.

Once the zombies had ascertained that there was no human in sight, they turned around.

Zuko released his breath silently. He had done this a hundred different times before (maybe more, but who was keeping count?) but his heart still threatened to thunder out of his chest every time. There was nothing quite like the dread that kept him on his toes every time a zombie was in the vicinity.

The smell of smoke still hung heavy in the air.

_ Matches _ , he decided. He should get matches too. 

On to the next one.

After waiting for the remaining zombies to spread out, he ran. The cut across the back of its neck wasn’t as deep as he would have liked it to be, but he would make do with it. This one took a little longer to fall, slumping to the ground as its lifeless eyes rolled about in its head, its mouth opening and shutting. By the time it started twitching violently again, he had already secured a spot between a wall and a car, shielded from view. As long as he didn’t utter a single sound, no zombie should be able to spot him. At least the undead fuckers were fairly blind, their vision only limited to motion. 

Two more and he would get there.

These last two were a little more challenging. They were standing in the dead center of three cars, all dangerously close to one another. It was a fair distance from the car he was hiding behind, the path littered with all sorts of glass and gravel and rocks of all manner. 

Zuko had never been much of a risk-taker. Every report card he had received as a kid was marred by the same old advice: he needed to try new things and stop being afraid to fail. He had promised himself a long time ago to start small, step by step—then one day he would get to a point where he was no longer scared of disappointment. Well, one would hardly consider slaying zombies a good place to start with, but here he was anyway. Who knew that the fucking apocalypse was all it took for him to step out of his comfort zone? Take that, teachers.

He tried to shake off the tension in his shoulders. This was a risk he thought worth taking.

It was the lesser of two evils: he would much rather risk a quick death in the city rather than succumb slowly to starvation and thirst in the rural wilderness.At least he could die knowing he went down fighting.

Closing his eyes for a second, he took a deep breath.

With one quick move, he leapt. 

Every step felt like an eternity and his soul felt like it was suspended in time as he flew towards the two zombies. It was like time had stood still and he was whooshing through the very essence of existence, his own hanging in the balance. His breath had caught in his throat, was he even breathing anymore? He couldn’t feel anything, but the world was rushing around him as he rushed through it, his grip tight and sure as he threw everything he ever had into the moment.

By some miracle bestowed upon him from the heavens above, Zuko managed to evade every single little piece of shrapnel and glass lying on the ground. His brain had barely caught up to his instincts by the time his blades whistled across decaying flesh and the bodies thumped to the ground.

He had made it. He really made it.

He— **_Thonk_ ** .

_ Ah fuck. _

He didn’t see the car. He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have. 

He clutched at his left side, the pain nothing compared to the blaring of alarms in his head.

His reaction was instantaneous. 

Zuko ran.

The growling that followed in his wake was quickly overtaken by his heart screaming in his throat and the blood rushing through his ears. Every cell in his body was lit on fire, his soul screaming for help that would never come. God, he was going to die. He was going to die.  _ Fuuuuuck _ . This was easily a contender for the worst day of his life. What a stupid way to go out. Way to go, Zuko. Cause of death: bumping into a car. Now wouldn’t that make for the perfect headstone inscription?

Tearing through the cars and the debris, he ran as fast as his shaking body could. Ducking behind cars and scrambling across the road close to the ground, he prayed that the cars were enough to block him from view. 

Fuck this. He was not going to die.

The supermarket was his only chance now.

If he didn’t make it— _ no _ . He was going to make it. 

Within seconds, he was booking it across the entire stretch of concrete and jumping with all the strength he could ever muster within himself without screaming out his lungs. 

For a moment, he was flying.

When he hit the floor he rolled, curling into himself as tightly as possible as the floor rose up to meet him. Soften the blow, muffle the landing. It was one of the first moves he had learnt way back, and one that he was banking on to save his life. 

Putting his hands over his head, he waited.

They shifted around outside, snapping and snarling.

He must’ve held his breath for hours, years? When he finally came down from the high, he realized that the only sound around was the rampant thumping of his pulse in his own ears. There were no zombies around. The silence was almost unbearable, but he slumped back down against the wall, against the pile of rubble—breathing heavily as he tried to quieten his own breath. 

He made it. He really made it.

He was exhausted.

Every joint in his body screamed with an ache, and his throat was hoarse and scratched dry at this point.  _ Water _ , he needed  _ water _ . Crawling to his feet, he took in the mess around him.

The supermarket was trashed. 

Racks had been pulled to the floor, the contents of plastic wrappers and food bags and cans scattered in piles on the dirt-covered floor. Rats were scampering through the mess, sniffing out bits of food and gnawing through the walls and floors. Even the items on the shelves weren’t safe, there were flies and all manners of insects buzzing around lazily, scouring the easy pickings. It was like a hurricane had torn through the place, ravaging all that lay in its path.

He felt like he was walking through a dream, some sort of nightmare he would never wake up from. He grabbed a packet of instant ramen, the contents spilling to the floor. It used to be his favorite brand—the bright yellow and red packaging he could recognize anywhere. Now, it was dull and dirty, the insides disgusting and crawling with bugs. Scrunching up his face, he set it gently back on the shelf. 

Even the pharmacy section was desecrated too. Bottles and boxes had been smashed across the floor and thrown over the counter, a minefield of glass awaiting him. Most probably came here looking for supplies way before the worst wave of the virus hit—essentials like neosporin, ibuprofen, aspirin all torn off the cabinets, followed by inhalers and epipens. He was probably standing in the exact spot where a rampage had broken out, desperate people grabbing anything in sight until there was nothing for the rest. The floor was sticky with spilled sunscreen, and Zuko felt like a god of irony was laughing somewhere out there.

He should’ve expected this. It  _ was _ the city center after all. He would’ve been one of the millions raiding the shops the day it all started—if he hadn’t been on the run in the first place. 

They took  _ everything _ . 

Whatever remained belonged to the rats and the flies now.

He cringed when he stepped in something wet and goopy, sticking to the underside of his boot. Everything had been spilled and torn and broken and damaged and there was nothing here left for him. A rat nosed through a pack of bread behind him, staring up at him with an innocent curiosity. He met its stare, his shoulders dropping. 

_ Fuck _ .

So much for a risk worth taking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I may or may not have taken an AOT-esque approach to the killing of the zombies. If you happen to be a zombie apocalypse fiction enthusiast and spot any glaring plotholes, please close one eye for the sake of the fic, for the zombies may be the inspiration for the entire fic but this story is so much more than that. However, this doesn't mean I took the apocalypse lightly though, I do take my worldbuilding very seriously.
> 
> Anyway, this is part of a bang so the whole story has been pre-written before posting (thank god), but I'll be releasing it in chunks to beat the ao3 algorithm. Look forward to accompanying art. I've been writing this since October and frankly, this is the longest fic I've ever written, and it's been quite a fun and challenging process to write. Needless to say I am Extremely Excited to be rolling this out. It's gonna be a wild ride so stay tuned, folks.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	2. The Absolute Madman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Zuko could not quite believe his eyes. What kind of absolute madman set up camp in the city? Was it some sort of fluke? How long did lights last in an apocalypse? Was this some sort of rescue beacon? An electrical fault? Someone’s sick idea of a prank? The entrance to heaven? The gateway to hell?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is absolutely canon in this universe that Sokka would be a Home Alone enthusiast.

Zuko managed to salvage a grand total of three things from the remains: a box of cartoon band-aids, a relatively intact tin of spam, and a pez stick with a disappointing lack of candy. He’s not certain if the band-aids would do much for the cuts and scratches littered across his limbs, but at least they were kind of cute. As for the spam, he was hoping it didn’t poison him or something in the event that he actually grew desperate enough to eat it. The pez stick was purely for nostalgia, but unfortunately nostalgia wasn’t going to help him in the middle of the apocalypse.

He had found a dripping tap in the back of the store, and proceeded to savor the slow dripping of the city’s remaining water supply off the rusty metal. The water tasted coppery, and he didn’t even want to begin thinking about the implications of that. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t even  _ close _ to enough—but it would have to do. 

What was he going to do now?

The afternoon heat was slowly cooking his brain from the inside out, rendering his thoughts hazy and unclear. It didn’t help that he was practically caged in with the heat and the rats and the flies in this supermarket. The air was so humid and hot that everything stuck to his skin. There was no way he was making it out of the city before sundown. He only had about one to two hours, having spent most of his time trying not to die out in the sun. 

On the other hand, there was no way he was staying in the city. It was practically a death wish— _ no one  _ survived the city alone. And him? He was very alone. He had been doing fine on his own for a long time now, but would this finally be the end of his run?

Not dying was the preferable option here, but his chances were getting thinner by the minute.

Fastening the blades onto his back, he let his hands fall to his sides.

He had to get out of here.

As expected, the supermarket was still surrounded by zombies. His little mishap earlier on had drawn more of them into the vicinity, waiting for any sign of life. The sight of lumbering, undead figures in the glint of the fading sun—slow and unnatural—was an uneasy sight for anyone. Zuko let out a disgruntled sigh. Swallowing the dry lump in his throat, he looked around for a clear path.

Never had Zuko been more frightened of a sunset. The color was slowly leeching out of the sky, replaced by a quickly darkening shade of yellow.  _ That’s not good _ . 

At least the sun had eased off, receding into the shadows that ate up the buildings and shrouded the entire street. Thank god for small mercies. If he wasn’t currently fighting for his life, Zuko might even think that the sky was beautiful. Believe it or not, there was a time when he could actually enjoy a sunset without the impending sense of dread weighing down on his insides. 

Turning his eyes skyward, he sank to the ground.

_ Wait _ . 

His eyes must be playing tricks on him. 

There was no fucking way. 

Parked in the middle of the darkening city—the skyscrapers looming over the ruins and the piles of debris—was a singular lit window. A bright light in the darkness. A sign of life. It was on the ninth floor of what used to be a hotel, the light bright and unmistakable through the glass. 

_ Someone’s living here in the city.  _

Zuko could not quite believe his eyes. What kind of absolute madman set up camp in the city? Was it some sort of fluke? How long did lights last in an apocalypse? Was this some sort of rescue beacon? An electrical fault? Someone’s sick idea of a prank? The entrance to heaven? The gateway to hell?

It couldn’t be a zombie, could it? Zombies were pretty fucking stupid if he was being honest, but you could never really discount any possibility in the apocalypse, right? What if it was some new strain of intelligent zombie? Could zombies figure out how to hit a light switch?

There was no way someone was surviving out here alone in the city. They’d either have to be super smart, super tough, super stupid, or some wacky combination of all three. In the first place, hotels were already a bitch to get into, much less in the middle of the fucking apocalypse—multiple one-way access doors which were unbreachable from the outside, study main gates and cameras everywhere, battery-powered room locks; there were defences in place everywhere. It was practically impenetrable, which made it all the more an ideal location to hide out in.  _ Quite impressive _ , if he were to say so himself.

Zuko shuddered trying to imagine what sort of character would even attempt something so risky. Nobody he wanted to associate with, surely. However, he was willing to tuck aside his personal reservations if it meant obtaining the supplies that he needed. At least whoever it was had great taste. The hotel was one of the most expensive and reputable ones in the city, and he could only imagine the amenities one would have access to if they managed to hold down a fort there. Something kicked to life in his brain when he imagined the storages of dry goods and perishables they probably had in the back somewhere. By some godforsaken miracle, the lunatic up there had found some way to get the electricity back on, and god was that  _ tempting _ . This could be the very break he needed to get out of here alive.

Sighing, he leaned back against the wall. He sure was taking a lot of risks lately.

Just this once, he was hoping for a miracle.

Gripping his blades in hand, he ran.

Just one small mistake and he would be plummeting to his death.

Somehow Zuko had found himself hanging precariously off the side of the building, with barely any space to move or stand.

It had taken him a grand total of five potential heart attacks to locate the back of the hotel, where he had squeezed through a narrow alley and searched the walls for a way up. His soul had threatened to exit his body every time a rat scampered over his foot, but before long he was already scrambling up the walls and searching for a way in before his mind could scream at him to stop. This may have been a stupid idea, but it was the only one he had.

It hadn’t been easy finding a way into the building.

Besides the obvious problem of zombies wandering around everywhere, all the front and side doors had been locked with an electronic system, and he was no good with devices. To make matters worse, unstable piles of rubble surrounded every entrance. It was a minefield of potential noise, and one that he had to navigate in the dark. He could get around by moving quick and light on his feet—turns out zombies had even shittier low light vision than anyone could’ve expected. It had taken him a few months and a very nerve-wracking encounter with a zombie to figure that one out. Again, yet another small mercy had been bestowed upon him by the fucking universe.  _ Hooray _ .

Digging his fingers into the rough edge of the brick, he hoisted himself up, his muscles screaming. His boots were wedged into dangerously thin crevices, and there was barely any grip on the rough edges of the brick, but he was holding on. Inhaling, he used the series of ledges and cracked brick to inch upwards until he reached the third level.

The windows here were dark—no surprise—but he wasn’t looking for light. 

Arms shaking and chest heaving with the effort to keep himself upright, he searched for any open ones. Surely, whoever up there couldn’t have gone through all the rooms and locked all the windows, right? Zombies didn’t just climb up walls of their own accord—as far as he knew.

He climbed a little higher before he finally found a window with a shaky lock.

Balancing precariously on the ledge as he willed his arm to stop trembling, he let go of his right arm. Lurching dangerously backwards, he held on with all his might, reaching out for the lock and taking shaky breaths. By some miracle of the world, he managed to snap it and get the damned thing open before he could fall off the ledge. Swinging himself through the window, he landed with a thud in the darkened room—heart hammering in his chest.

Everything was eerily silent. He had been half-expecting some zombie to pounce on him the moment he landed on the cold tiles, but there was no snapping or snarling or disfigured bodies lunging at him. Shaking badly, he got to his feet. He could see a bed in the dark, and a wardrobe in the far corner of the room. A lampshade on the dresser. A television in the wall. Just a regular old hotel room with regular old furniture. The place was so clean and intact that he had to blink twice to check if it was a dream. It was like walking through a shadow of normalcy, an untouched pocket of time and space, a remnant of an old world that didn’t exist anymore. 

Resisting the urge to collapse onto the bed and fall into a deep, never-ending sleep, Zuko padded over to the door. Opening it, he peered into the dark corridor, but there was no sign of any zombies. Peering into the pitch black for any moving shapes, all that greeted him were the little echoes coming from his own footsteps. The silence was almost worse.

Ninth floor. He had to get to the ninth floor.

This place was like a maze in itself. The corridors stretched on and on and turned and twisted, all the rooms looking quite identical from the outside. Not only was it enough to confuse any mindless wandering zombies, it was also enough to confuse any exhausted humans on the brink of collapsing like himself.

Should he turn left? Nah, it just didn’t seem right.

After a torturously silent bout of walking, Zuko had finally located the elevators all the way at the end of a corridor on the right.

He jabbed at the elevator buttons.

_ Of course  _ they didn’t work.

Sighing deeply to himself, he took the stairs. 

After a gruelling climb—six floors, to be precise—he finally arrived at the ninth floor. All he found was an unassuming metal door that was slightly ajar, which should’ve been way more suspicious, but he was too tired to care.

Crossing the threshold, he walked out onto the corridor.

Big mistake. 

The jarring sound nearly scared the life out of him. For a moment, it felt like the world had ended again. When he finally felt like his heart wasn’t about to tear out of his chest, he inspected the offending source of the racket. A bunch of empty cans tied together. Dangling right beyond the doorway, lying in wait for any wandering zombie to walk into them. It looked to be some sort of warning system. An alarm.  _ A sign of intelligent life _ .

The errant thumping of his heart aside, his suspicions were confirmed.

There was someone living here after all. 

Okay, so there was one trap. Now all he had to do was be  _ very _ careful before—

— **_CRRRRRTF_ ** .  _ That _ happened.

Thrashing around trying to get it off his face, Zuko drew back and threw his hands up. Lying crumpled in front of him was none other than a piece of duct tape that had been strung up across the corridor mere moments before. In fact, the entire corridor was mapped out with pieces of duct tape, probably industrial from the raw feeling of torn skin on his face. What kind of Home Alone shit? 

Now he  _ really _ didn’t want to meet the person who engineered all these stupid traps. 

Pressing onwards quietly, he swallowed his desire to turn back. Who knew what other surprises awaited him?

It wasn’t until a few moments later that he heard the beep. A subtle pulse, it was like something had just turned on. Not just something, a  _ few  _ somethings. He looked around, trying to identify the source of the noise, breath catching in his throat. Was this another trap?

There were white circular devices implanted into the walls. Zuko had never seen anything like them. They looked like some sort of alien tech—suspiciously clean and minimalistic—and he moved closer, trying to ascertain that they weren’t going to explode in his face or something. The devices were palm-sized, and there was no light and no switch or anything to tell him that they were turned on. 

In his attempt to move closer, he made yet another fatal mistake. He  _ tripped _ .

His body seized in sheer panic on the way down. You didn’t just fall in the middle of a fucking zombie apocalypse. It was practically a death sentence if any of the zombies heard you. There were consequences to every slip-up. Sure, there were no zombies around here, but he had been in way too many dangerous situations to be calm about it. 

Zuko went crashing to the ground, but there was no crash. In fact, there wasn’t even a thud. It was like he had never hit the ground at all, but the impact on his arms and side was telling him otherwise. He did fall, but the fall...it made no noise at all. 

What the fuck?

Sure, the floor was ridiculously carpeted, but that was quite the spill he took. In fact, he would have been quite embarrassed about it were it not for the confusion quickly overtaking the fear in his head. He was flabbergasted. He needed to try something.

Bringing his palm down hard on the wall in front of him, he winced. 

No sound.

What?

Scrambling to his feet, Zuko stared at the devices again. The entire place was silent. Not even his breathing. Not a creak or a crack or a thump. 

Could it be?

_ Who _ on earth was living here? 

Taking one last reluctant look over his shoulder at them, he hurried off down the corridor. 

He needed to know.

**_Room 901. Room 902. Room 903. Room 904. Room 905._ **

He kept running.

Before long, he drew close to the end of the floor. 

**_Room 910_ ** . 

That was the one.

Without any hesitation whatsoever, he pushed through the door, charging it with all his strength. It gave way, and he tumbled into a room that looked exactly like the first one. The only difference was that this one looked lived in. His own pulse thundering in his temples, he saw a lampshade turned on, the sheets rumpled, bags placed against the wall—more signs of life. 

What he  _ didn’t _ see was the taser coming towards him from behind.

His entire body seizing up, he fell to the ground and into a mind-numbing darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whispers to myself* I will not post everything in one go. I will not post everything in one go. I will not post everything in one go. 
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	3. The Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now he had an unconscious and cute boy lying in his living room. Unconscious, but it didn’t change the fact that he was very attractive. Were his standards slipping because he hadn’t actually seen another human being in ages, or was the dude actually really, really good-looking? Sokka had no clue, but he wasn’t about to lose his composure over it. Yet._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally they meet.

The story went like this.

Sokka was just trying to take a peaceful nap—the first one that he had taken in almost forever (i.e. six days). He had almost forgotten what sleeping was like. Who even had time to lie down and close their eyes when the world was ending outside? Either way, he had decided that he was going to make time for that, which led to the conclusion that a short and sweet nap was exactly what he needed. 

So he had put on his most comfy outfit—a cotton shirt with a rip at the waist and a pair of slightly (only slightly!) blood-stained sweatpants—and slipped under the covers after barricading every possible entrance. He even ramped up the air-conditioning unit and put on a nice nightlight. The apocalypse was not good for the complexion. The yellow glow did wonders in soothing his frazzled nerves and tired skin, slowly pulling him into a deep and dreamless sleep. 

Just then, he was rudely jolted away by a familiar loud noise: the unmistakable rattling of his cans. Someone, no,  _ something _ had just walked into his trap. It was trying to get on his level! While he was trying to sleep. The nerve. Can’t a guy get a good nap around here? 

Swinging his legs off the bed, he had stood up and stretched out his back to a symphony of cracks. Unfortunately, a chiropractor was in short supply during the zombie apocalypse, which was quite a shame. He always did have crackly joints. Sokka looked at his watch. He had maybe about ten to twenty seconds to neutralize the zombie before it came smashing through that door and gnashing its teeth at his neck. Should he use the taser? Probably.

Wait. He should get samples. Which means he couldn’t kill the zombie yet. Ah, what a bother. It was big trouble trying to restrain any of them, given the vicious and impetuous nature of the undead. Anyone else would’ve given up trying to figure out the origin of the viral infection and all its nasty little details a long time ago, but Sokka wasn’t just anyone. He was a survivor. A survivor living in the city, which meant prime opportunity to get close to all the zombies and their cellular information. No way he was wasting an opportunity like this. 

He hit the switch on the panel to turn on the mufflers. In the process of reconfiguring those noise-cancelling devices, he had forgotten the most vital part: the naming. So he settled for calling them mufflers and the name stuck ever since. There was nobody around to tell him that the name sucked anyway, he could do whatever he liked.

So when the zombie came crashing through the door, he was all ready for it.

Sokka did the most natural thing one could do in such a situation:  _ Zap the fucker _ .

Only when the body collapsed to the floor, twitching, had he realized his mistake.

Now he had an unconscious and cute boy lying in his living room. Unconscious, but it didn’t change the fact that he was very attractive. Were his standards slipping because he hadn’t actually seen another human being in ages, or was the dude actually really, really good-looking? Sokka had no clue, but he wasn’t about to lose his composure over it. Yet.

There weren’t any visible major injuries on the handsome stranger’s body save for a few cuts and scratches. He was still breathing, albeit shallowly, a quiet sigh as Sokka started to swab ointment on all his wounds. He would be out cold for a while. If the voltage of the taser had been kicked up a slight notch, he could have been dealing with a  _ dead _ human body on his hands. As acquainted as he was with death, Sokka wasn’t on board with that idea.

These cuts weren’t what he was wondering about.

That scar. It looked like a burn scar, spanning across the boy’s entire left eye and covering the side of his face. The skin was red and tender, having never healed over properly, and Sokka found his hands moving closer towards it. After thinking for a brief moment, he retracted them. He wouldn’t want to violate anybody’s privacy like that.

Sokka dabbed another bit of ointment onto a cut below his cheek.

Maybe he was in the mafia? Some sort of gang leader, perhaps? Escaped from juvie?

His hands grazed over every cut, applying gentle pressure while swiping away dried blood.

Maybe he was the sole survivor of an arson incident? That would be quite sad, actually. Surviving one tragedy only to find himself in another. Quite the story. Sokka was not immune to fantastical speculations like these.

Grabbing a washcloth, he tried to get the blood out of the boy’s hair.

Maybe he scalded himself trying to make hot soup as a kid?

Either way, Sokka wasn’t one to judge. The stranger’s backstory didn’t matter. Especially not in the apocalypse. Nobody’s past mattered in the apocalypse, they were all survivors now anyway. Nobody could say they were better or richer or more well off anymore. So much for striving for equality when everyone was still alive.

Lifting the stranger’s shirt, he winced when the fabric caught on the wounds. Tearing it away, he fervently hoped that it was cloth and not skin. 

In the midst of trying to pull his shirt off his body, Sokka gasped.

Abs. The dude had abs. Very obvious abs. Ab definition. 

_ No, Sokka, no _ .  _ You will not stare at his abs _ . 

He was such a horrible person. What was wrong with him? The stranger was practically on the verge of death and he was staring at the guy’s abs. If he didn’t think the dude was attractive beforehand, he certainly did now. A pretty face and nice abs? Jesus christ. 

Forcing himself not to look, he quickly wiped up the wounds there and replaced the shirt, closing it over the only evidence of his mortal temptation.

Wow. Even when the world was ending, Sokka had still found a way to be super fucking gay. 

He would give himself a pat on the back were it not for the fact that the pretty boy was stirring.

“Hey,” Sokka said.

“Hey?” The boy replied, blinking.

“You were knocked out with a very powerful blast of electricity,” Sokka explained nonchalantly, sounding more like he was talking about the weather. “It’s honestly a miracle you’re still awake. Or alive. Either one.”

More blinking.

“Did you hear me?” Sokka spoke again. “I don’t think the electricity affects any hearing—”

“I heard you the first time round.”

“Great.” Sokka shrugged. “Never tested that on a live human being before.”

“I’ll bet.” the boy rubbed his head.

“Sorry, I thought you were a zombie.”

“Should I be offended?”

“I’m Sokka. What brings you to these parts?”

“Hunger and thirst.”

“Hello hunger and thirst, you’re the first human I’ve seen in months.”

“Very funny,” the boy said.

“Are you really not going to tell me your name?” Sokka asked.

There was a slight pause, a hesitation.

“Zuko.”

“Zuko,” Sokka repeated, tossing the name around on his tongue. “Pretty name.”

Zuko, apparently, flashed him a look.

“Just saying.” Sokka threw his hands up. “Dinner’s cooking, you might want to change out of—”

He gestured vaguely at Zuko’s clothes.

“ _ —those _ .”

“What’s wrong with them?” Zuko asked, disgruntled.

“First off, you smell like a dumpster blew sky high.” Sokka tilted his head. “Pig’s blood was clever, but it’s not doing wonders for your scent. You’re stinking up the whole room.”

Zuko took a cautionary whiff of himself. Regrettably, Sokka was correct.

“Secondly, I don’t want you tracking blood and dirt and zombie guts all over my clean bed sheets. I already let you sleep for a while. My house, my rules.”

“ _ Your _ house?” Zuko scoffed. “We’re in the city.”

“Last but not least, I saved your ass,” Sokka pointed out, completely ignoring the comment. “So you better clean up. Or I’m not offering you any dinner.”

It was a miracle that he hadn’t hauled this dude’s ass out the door yet and just left him with the zombies. Granted, it was a pretty nice ass, but Zuko didn’t need to know that. 

As much as Zuko wanted to argue back, dinner did sound pretty nice. Of course, he still didn’t trust this Sokka, who was a complete stranger with as much tact as a wild buffalo. This was not who he was expecting to be the face behind all those stupid traps and the strange white glowing devices he encountered in the corridors, and certainly not who he was expecting to survive alone in the city. Then again, if there was anything he had learnt these past six months, it was not to ever judge a book by its cover. Appearances could be very deceiving. All the more reason he should be more careful here.

Resigning himself to his fate, Zuko hauled himself to the adjoined bathroom.

“You sure there’ll be no zombies crashing in or something?”

“I’m pretty damn sure,” Sokka said, looking pretty damn sure of himself. “Can you just—?”

He gestured animatedly, doing some weird flicking of his wrist, as if the erratic movements of his hand could somehow propel Zuko deeper into the bathroom. 

Flashing him another unamused look, Zuko shut the door.

The first thing that greeted him was the mirror.

He looked like a  _ mess _ . He was caked in grime and blood, weird black stains of unknown origins covering his entire face. He hadn’t seen a proper, intact mirror in ages, only catching fleeting glimpses of his own reflection in broken glass doors and muddy puddles of rainwater. 

His hair was getting a bit too long for his liking, and his face was etched with lines of worry and wear and everything that wasn’t there before. A map of cuts and scratches adorned any exposed skin—his neck, his arms, his face; some were already scabbing and others looked more fresh. He looked like he had been through hell, and maybe that was true. 

Pulling aside the shower curtain, he found a perfectly functional shower head and a bathtub, complete with soaps and scents, the usual complimentary stuff they gave you as a hotel guest. He used to always ignore those in favor of his own products, but now? It was like finding gold.

Should he draw a bath? 

“ _ You better fucking take a bath! And a shower! Shower first. _ ”

Stupid Sokka. He hadn’t even known the dude for an hour.

After rinsing all the nasty shit off his skin and scrubbing himself raw, he finally drew a bath. He hadn’t taken a proper shower in over half a year, much less a bath. Sighing, he immersed himself into the warm water, feeling it swirl around his limbs and ease the aching of his joints. Soap. He hadn’t used that in ages either. It smelled nice, like lavender and some other flower. He lathered it over himself, feeling the suds build up around him.

This was nice.

His head was still hurting, both from the fall when he got tasered and from the number of questions swirling around inside his brain. Just mere hours ago he was fighting for his goddamn life, and now he was taking a bubble bath. The universe must be having a laugh.

He came here looking for answers, and he wasn’t sure if these were the answers he was looking for—not that he had gotten any yet. Stupid Sokka. Stupid, stupid Sokka. Why was Sokka the one who had been surviving in the city all along? Not that it wasn’t impressive, it was. But why’d it have to be Sokka? What kind of name even is Sokka?

When he finally emerged from the bathtub, he took one look at his dirty clothes and tossed them aside. If he was going to bother taking a whole bath, no way was he putting that back on his body.

Time to see if stupid Sokka had any.

“Hey, do you have any clothes?”

Zuko stood and waited.

“Uh, Sokka?”

Sokka was stuck. He was stuck. His eyes were stuck.  _ Goddammit _ . He knew those abs would be the death of him. Zuko was  _ shirtless _ , and not only was he shirtless, the only thing covering his anything was a fucking towel. A fucking towel, draped loosely around his chiselled hips like he was some kind of Adonis. His damp hair hung around his face in dark wisps, framing the gold of his eyes and the pretty frown on his face. What the fuck did Sokka do to deserve this torment?

“Yes?” he asked, still very much ogling. God, he was shameless.

Sokka was hella gay. Well, bi. Or pan. Anything works. But who the fuck gave a shit about labels in the middle of the goddamn apocalypse anyway?

“Clothes?” Zuko repeated, quite confused.

“Right, right,  _ right _ ,” Sokka coughed, tearing away. “Just pick whatever from the closet. There’s bound to be a shirt somewhere in there to fit those broad shoulders.”

“Those what now?” Zuko had exited the bathroom and was currently walking over.

_ Oh god, he’s coming closer. _

“Nothing, just—pick anything you want!”

Giving him a puzzled look, Zuko padded over to the closet.

_ A towel! _ Sokka said, hitting his own head, trying to shake any thoughts from his mind. He returned to stirring the beans around as he heated them up, focusing on the rhythmic movements of the spoon instead of the distraction that was currently rifling through his closet. Maybe  _ he _ was the one who needed a shower. A cold shower.

“We’re having baked beans and rice,” Sokka announced. “Should’ve told me you were coming, I would’ve dug out the chicken steaks. We could’ve been eating good tonight.”

Zuko was not used to this. Was this humor? Was this sarcasm? Was this compassion? Sokka spoke as if he had known Zuko for all his insufferable life, when in reality they had barely even met. It wasn’t even an amicable first meeting. Getting tased wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him, but it was somewhere up there at the top of that list.

“How?” Zuko asked, no holds barred. “City. How?”

As if he had been expecting the question, Sokka sighed deeply and turned around.

“Food first. Questions later. Join me or stand there like an idiot, your choice.”

Grumbling, Zuko settled down across from Sokka onto the unusually plush carpeting. It was a beautiful shade of maroon, perfect for hiding any bloodstains, although there didn’t seem to be any. He had to admit, the entire room was pretty clean, which meant Sokka must do his dirty work somewhere else. Even the dude’s shirt and pants were relatively clean, despite the obvious rips and tears in the cloth. He must have put some time into taking care of his appearance. Cleanliness was not just a luxury during the apocalypse, it was an  _ illusion _ , a lie even. Someone who was clean had something to hide.

Handing him a bowl, Sokka gave him a look.

“Don’t eat too fast.”

There was perfectly good food in front of him, and Sokka was telling him not to eat too fast.  _ Preposterous _ . Zuko would’ve mumbled something sarcastic in response if he wasn’t already wolfing down the beans and rice. It was hot and steaming and filling and everything that he could never use to describe his meals in the past few weeks outside the city. How long had it been since he had rice?

“Fuck.” 

“It’s good, right?” Sokka sounded smug.

“Maybe I’m just too hungry to care.”

“Food’s food,” Sokka replied, chuckling at the speed Zuko was scarfing down his rice at. “There’s more in the pot.”

Zuko set down the bowl, a flash of something crossing his face.

“What?” Sokka looked up.

“Thank you.” It was a quiet declaration, a reluctant word of thanks, but a firm one anyway.

“Don’t mention it,” Sokka said, waving his spoon.

He gave Zuko a small smile.

Zuko nodded back. 

“Now, what questions do you have for me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, every time I write a zukka enemies to lovers au (ok, it's only been twice) it ends up being just the two of them aggressively bantering and then being confused and feeling a strong sense of Hmmm™ towards each other that turns out to be a mix of Feelings™ and No I Can't Like Him™ which then leads to some very comedic and angsty interactions that pave the way for a beautiful relationship. Instead of y'know, like a sworn enemies type thing.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	4. The Run & Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko still had enough conscience in him to feel bad about what he was doing. Sokka had been the one who had taken him in after all. He would even go as far to say that Sokka saved his life. He even bandaged his wounds and everything, the benevolent fuck. How could Sokka even be sure that Zuko wouldn’t just betray his goodwill like this? Trust was a finite resource, and in the apocalypse? Resources were valuable. People would kill for valuable. The apocalypse made people do strange and twisted things, and resorting to theft was just one of the many rotten deeds humanity has stooped to.
> 
> He was no better than any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (clenches fist) the banter. The Banter.

Sleep did not come easy.

In fact, it never came at all.

If Zuko stared long enough at the dark shape of the clock on the wall, he could make out the hands moving, wading through time as he tossed and turned about on the carpet.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep in the bed? There’s plenty of space.” Sokka’s voice came drifting in from overhead. 

No way was Zuko ever going to get into a bed with Sokka. 

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself,” Sokka replied. “Good night, sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite. I’m not sure if there’s any, but yeah.”

“Thanks,” Zuko deadpanned.

The light in the lampshade went out.

Zuko rolled over onto his left and pressed his face into the pillow. The carpeted floor was actually quite soothing on his sore back. The soft touch of the pillow against his head and the cold hum of the air-conditioner against his skin were entirely foreign sensations. He nuzzled his head further into the pillow hesitantly, as if seeking out comfort went against everything he had been forced to learn in the last six months. It smelled like fresh laundry.

Finally, some peace and quiet. As much as he was glad to find another human being in the city, he was really starting to question some of his life choices here. It’s been three weeks and two days since he’s seen another survivor, and even longer since he’s talked to one. It was almost like he had forgotten how to interact with anything that wasn’t out to get his flesh. He was convinced that he had completely lost the ability to talk, or even the ability to speak in anything more than grunts and groans. You couldn’t exactly talk to the trees or the wild animals you encountered when you were out there in the wilderness alone.

Zuko wondered how Sokka did it. He seemed fairly eloquent for someone who had been living in the city alone for a while now. Had he been talking to any survivors? Had he been talking to himself? Zuko wouldn’t put it past him. He did seem like the kind of guy who would enjoy his own company and conversation.

_Who is Sokka?_

The only thing he knew about Sokka was that he looked to be about the same age as himself. And that he seemed to know what he was doing, which was a given. When you were this far into the apocalypse, you either knew how to survive or you didn’t. Zuko still wasn’t sure whether to trust him or not. He also wasn’t sure whether Sokka trusted him or not—not that it mattered.

Despite his suspicions, he had allowed Sokka to show him around the place. 

»»————- ————-««

“A tour!” Sokka announced, painting himself as some kind of experienced tour guide.

“Just lead the way,” Zuko said.

They were standing before the sprawling hotel lobby, where the light glowed dim and warm and the glass doors were painted over with black paint—secluded from the outside world and shielded from view. There were pots of withered plants standing around the place, dry and shrivelled with nobody to water them. It made the place seem even emptier and desolate, even with the luxurious panelling and the intricate tiled floor. The front desk was still scattered with pens and papers, no doubt a remnant from the chaos of the evacuation. It was a stark contrast amidst the grandeur. 

“Here we have the lobby,” Sokka gestured. “I rearranged the furniture so it looks a little more, _lived-in_ , we shall say. It’s where our most hallowed guests walk in through those golden double doors and book themselves a little stay in this tower of luxury.”

“We’re in the middle of an apocalypse, Sokka.”

“Geez, do you ever relax? Do you ever have fun?”

“An apocalypse is not fun,” Zuko grumbled. 

Pointedly ignoring Zuko’s grumpy tone, Sokka spun on his heel and plonked himself down into a plush armchair. He looked at ease with his surroundings, which made Zuko wonder how long he had been staying here. And how long it’s been since he’s seen the outside. 

“How’d you get into the system?”

“Staff pass,” Sokka said, fishing the lanyard out of his shirt. “Must’ve dropped when everyone evacuated the place.”

“Hmmm.” That made sense. “How’d you get in in the first place?”

“I was a guest here.”

“Why?”

“Science fair.”

Zuko hummed. Those weren’t all too uncommon in the region back in the days.

“How’d you keep all the zombies out?”

“I didn’t,” Sokka answered. “I drew them out using sound from the outside.”

“How?”

“Speakers, bluetooth. They have a lot of those in the shops out there. Receptivity isn't too bad from the lobby.” Sokka grinned. “I simply played some hmm, _old tunes_.”

“Old tunes?” 

“Rick Astley, I’m sure you’re familiar.”

Great, not only was Sokka some sort of prodigy, he liked memes too. 

“You a hacker or something?” 

“No, but close enough,” Sokka said. “I do science-y and tech stuff. I write code.”

 _Ah, a nerd,_ Zuko found himself thinking. 

“You sure are asking a lot of questions.”

“I don’t trust you,” Zuko said blatantly.

“Doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” Sokka replied.

They fell into silence.

Zuko crossed the lobby and pointed to the nearest white circular device on the wall.

“Does your science thing have anything to do with these?” 

“Ah, those!” Sokka jumped up like he was the one who had been tased, his eyes twinkling. “Yeah, yeah, that’s my stuff.”

“What _are_ they?”

“White noise machines,” Sokka explained. “You can get them at any electronics store for like thirty dollars or something. I was doing an experiment on sound frequency and the sponsor gave the go ahead for me to get like ten of these so I did.”

“What do they do?”

“I reconfigured them to block out noise, some sort of muffling effect on any sound in the surrounding,” Sokka continued, looking very proud of himself. “They deflect any sound with sound waves of their own. We would probably need to yell to hear each other if I switched them on right now.”

“Ah, I thought so.” Zuko thought back to his very stupid fall. “How are they linked?”

“Free wi-fi.” Sokka walked over to a cabinet and pulled open the doors, exposing the panel of routers. “I found the password under the front desk.”

“Can’t say I’m not impressed,” Zuko admitted. “How’d you get the electricity back on?”

“That...I don’t actually know.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just was,” Sokka said. “On, I mean.”

“Hm,” Zuko said. “Lucky break.”

“Can’t get enough of those around here.”

“So you found electricity and decided that you were just gonna invent a sound-proofing thingy?”

“Yeah, it makes sneaking around easier if a zombie ever gets in,” Sokka said. “ _And_ keeps them from forming hordes outside the doors when I’m moving stuff upstairs.”

“Stuff?” Zuko asked. “Stuff like what?”

“Mainly food,” Sokka said. “Come on, I’ll show you the pantry.”

They moved into an adjoining room that Zuko assumed was the dining hall. The tables were still standing, but he couldn’t say the same for some of the heavy oak chairs that lay on their sides on the floor, the upholstery soiled and torn. The place was dark, the lights blown out. Tablecloths and napkins were draped haphazardly across various surfaces, still stained with grease and covered over with bent trays and broken glasses. It was like the disaster had been frozen in time, a living relic.

Zuko didn’t need to wonder what happened to all the guests once dining here.

“Through here.” Sokka pushed through the swinging door.

They passed through a kitchen, the floors and ceilings stained with food and blood. The lights were flickering in some parts, and the pots and pans overturned on the stoves. Zuko bent down to inspect a dirty knife that had slid into the middle of the room in the chaos. Someone had put up a valiant struggle in this very spot he stood.

He wasn’t going to wonder if they made it.

“This is it.”

Zuko’s eyes lit up the moment he entered the adjoined pantry. 

Had he died and entered heaven?

Boxes and boxes of dry goods lined the walls in glorious stacks, leaning against cupboards and cabinets that probably contained even more food. A refrigerator, a _working_ refrigerator, stood off to the far left of the room, nestled between two panels of shelves that boasted an array of brightly colored cans, each one filled with delicious sustenance. The hum of electricity powering the freezer in the back was like music to his ears, one that sang the promises of frozen foods and sweet treats that he hadn’t had in months. The room had remained relatively untouched, sealed off from the catastrophic state of the kitchen outside. A sanctuary. 

This was actually happening. This was real.

This bastard Sokka had been hiding out in the most clever fortress this whole time. Tower of luxury indeed. Zuko couldn’t help but be reluctantly impressed once again, even if he was angry about it. He didn’t like being impressed. Especially not by someone with the likes of Sokka.

“Pick something to eat,” Sokka said.

“Huh?”

“Anything you want. A midnight snack.” Sokka grinned. “Nobody’s around to tell us what to do, better make the most of it.”

That did sound tempting. As suspicious as Zuko was of this unfounded hospitality, he was too far gone, too dizzy with the glee of possibility to even stop himself from accepting. 

He walked up to the first box that caught his eye.

“Hello Panda, huh?” Sokka folded his arms.

“Who are you to judge?” Zuko asked, tearing the tape off the top of the box. He had a secret sweet tooth, and the sweet panda-shaped biscuits were one of the few things that would satiate his cravings for something crunchy and delicious. They reminded him of better days, ones that were calmer and easier, when he was younger and more oblivious.

“No, no, not judging,” Sokka corrected. “Good choice, good choice.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow at him.

“Pop quiz: what’s the best Hello Panda flavor?”

Zuko challenged Sokka’s stare.

“ _Chocolate_.” They both answered at the same time.

“Great, if you’d answered literally anything else I would have kicked you out of this hotel.”

Zuko snorted, tearing open the red and brown packet. This was nostalgic. 

He placed a panda biscuit gently in his mouth and bit down.

It was like time had stopped. Time had stopped and he had truly ascended. _This_ was paradise. He had found true pleasure. It was like he had finally understood the meaning of happiness after searching for it for the last twenty long years of his life. Hello Panda was happiness. 

“Are you okay?” Sokka asked.

Zuko physically couldn’t reply, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t.

The velvety smooth spread of chocolate filling and the crispy crunch of biscuit served him well in blocking out the worries of the world and everything else weighing on his mind. Sokka included. It was like the world had melted away around him like the way the decadent mix of chocolate and biscuit melted in his mouth. This was glorious. 

“Let me know when you come back down to earth.” Sokka chuckled in amusement.

“That was the best fucking bite of food I’ve ever had.”

“Wait till you see the rest.”

Zuko had somehow found himself sprawled out across the floor in his chocolate-induced stupor. It was just that good. It was so good that it could bring actual tears to his eyes. Was he really about to cry over bear-shaped chocolate biscuits? 

Who could blame him, really? It’s been so long. It’s been so long since he’s had a snack, since he’s had something so familiar and soothing. Something that brought an irrevocable warmth to his heart, something that was like balm on his frazzled nerves. A reminder of a universal past and his own childhood. Something so human. 

“Sokka, I don’t think I ever want to leave this room.”

“C’mon, you can bring the whole box with you upstairs if you can carry it.”

Zuko obliged just this once.

»»————- ————-««

No, Zuko didn’t want to trust Sokka.

He had made it this far alone. He had seen all the horrible things that people would do to each other just to get ahead and survive in the apocalypse. He had seen people die because of the stupid decisions made by someone else. He wasn’t about to become one of them. 

He sat up.

The soft sounds of slow breathing drifted by from the bed.

Sokka was asleep.

It was now or never.

Swiftly rising to his feet, Zuko looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dark room. Which was the cabinet that Sokka kept his medical supplies in? He vaguely remembered watching him tucking the bottles of antiseptic and bandages away into the cabinets out of the corner of his eye. Taking great care not to make a single peep, Zuko opened them and rummaged around. 

He looked back over his shoulder at the unmoving form on the bed.

Zuko still had enough conscience in him to feel bad about what he was doing. Sokka had been the one who had taken him in after all. He would even go as far to say that Sokka _saved his life_. He even bandaged his wounds and everything, the benevolent fuck. How could Sokka even be sure that Zuko wouldn’t just betray his goodwill like this? Trust was a finite resource, and in the apocalypse? Resources were valuable. People would kill for valuable. The apocalypse made people do strange and twisted things, and resorting to theft was just one of the many rotten deeds humanity has stooped to.

Zuko was no better than any of them. 

He shovelled bottles and bandages into his backpack, cursing under his breath. He had a good reason. He couldn’t afford to make a mistake here. One wrong move and it could be his _literal death_. He didn’t have the time to be worried about his personal morals when his own life was at stake. Goddamn if he was going to die just because he decided to put his fate into the hands of someone else.

He had to leave now before he changed his mind.

Almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to outrun his own feelings, he slung the backpack over his shoulders and slotted his feet back into his boots. They felt secure, familiar, grounded. Like he was ready to run and he could go anywhere his two feet could take him. Grabbing the staff pass off the nightstand, he waited for the little beep and swung the door open.

His next stop? The pantry.

If he was going to steal, he was going to make the most of it.

The sun was coming up in an hour or two. He couldn’t be here when it did.

With nothing but the cover of darkness and his own footsteps to witness his misdeed, he ran.

Back in the hotel room, the lump of blankets on the bed turned over.

Sighing, Sokka flung the covers off and sat up in the dark.

“Goddamnit, I knew this would happen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "No way was Zuko ever going to get into a bed with Sokka." (laughs in enemies to lovers)
> 
> Look, I may or may not be a fraud. I believe in chocolate Hello Panda supremacy, but strawberry is a worthy competitor. Anyway, it is firmly my belief that Sokka rickrolled the zombies because of course he would. He saw the opportunity and he took it. Zuko is absolutely the one who keeps getting rickrolled all the time. 
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	5. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fuck!”  
> A singular swear word.  
> That was all it took for Zuko to recognize the voice.  
>  _Sokka._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's an enemies to lovers fic without them fighting for their lives alongside each other at least once?

Zuko ducked behind a wall, narrowly missing a passing zombie.

It had taken his eyes a little while to adjust to the dark, but once he did, it was back to ducking and dodging and hiding from the zombies. With his back pressed up against the concrete, he waited for the shadowy figure to pass. There were so many of them, stumbling about in complete darkness. 

It was strange to think that they were once human too.

Every step he took could be his last, but he wasn’t about to die here. Zuko had found a thick black jacket in the lounge, and he was sweating buckets out in this heat, but at least his skin wasn’t completely exposed. Leather was tough to bite through. Hopefully it was too covered with nasty smells and gunk for the zombies to smell him. He sure was taking a  _ lot _ of risks as of late.

It had definitely been much easier getting out of the hotel from the inside than trying to get in from the outside. He had only intended to find somewhere temporary to wait out the dawn, somewhere away from Sokka and the hotel and the scene of his betrayal. He had climbed into one of those nondescript buildings down the road, where the premises were surrounded by chain link fences and piles of unused brick. Buildings that were still in construction, and never had a chance to be finished before the wave struck. They were mere skeletons of concrete and metal beams and wooden scaffolds—abandoned and alone. 

The insides looked empty and relatively quiet. He held his breath and moved through the building like a spectre, barely there and barely breathing. Every little shadow and movement surrounded him with a frightening familiarity as he watched out for any zombies. He had been on the run for so long that the thundering in his heart was the only thing he knew now. 

He had found a relatively sheltered spot a little distance away from the hotbed of zombie activity in the central parts of the building. It was separated from the main areas, blockaded with building material and surrounded by scaffolding, a little ways off the ground. It was perfect.

With a hefty jump, he landed in the unfinished room and found himself alone again.

He was tired.

Sleep had come easier to him when he was alone in the darkness on the cold hard floor, surrounded by the ruins of humanity and the squeaking and scuttling that ran through the foundations. It wasn’t easy, but it was easier. Zuko would be grateful to just get an hour or two off his feet these days. He had hoped that a little shuteye would shake any thoughts of Sokka from his head. 

He didn’t think he could ever forget Sokka, or what he did.

So he closed his eyes, squeezing all the thoughts from his head and hugging the backpack tight to his chest, its weight both comforting and uneasy. 

He could count on the darkness. He could count on himself. He could count on being alone.

With that knowledge, he drifted off into a haze of broken dreams.

When he came to, the throbbing from earlier on had vacated the base of his skull. It had only been an hour or two, but he was feeling ever so slightly better, and steadier on his feet. He unzipped the backpack to check that everything was still there, that it wasn’t all some sort of weird fever dream. That Sokka had actually existed and he had actually been there. That the heaviness in his chest that followed him into his sleep wasn’t just a product of his imagination.

He sighed when he saw that the bag was still full.

The sky was starting to lighten.

He had to get out of the city this time. There was nothing left for him here.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Zuko peered out over the city.

It was pretty even when shrouded in darkness.

Scanning the roads, he tried to piece together an escape route. Call it personal preference, but he would rather not take the paths crowded with zombies, especially not in the day. The zombies tended to flood the areas with the least obstacles in the way. If he took the alleys and the smaller, narrower roads, he could avoid a nasty confrontation.

Sighing to himself again, he set off. 

The bat swung through the air, metal connecting with bone and rotten flesh.

_ Squish _ .  _ Squelch. Crunch. _

Sokka couldn’t hold them off for long, and the horde was only growing.

It was like the air was getting hotter and tighter, the ground closing in on him. He was going to be cornered at this rate, and that was as good as a death sentence. 

The sun was climbing higher and higher into the sky, but the light offered him no respite. In fact, it only served to illuminate the festering flesh and caved-in faces that lunged at him. He could see them clearer now, the undead horrors that were the stuff of nightmares, standing before his very eyes. They were desperate to turn him into one of their own, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He had to get to the buildings.

Gripping the bat tighter, he swung again.

He couldn’t hear the fear in his heart over his own yelling.

There was that awful sound again. 

Zuko thought it was the alley cats at first, but it took him a whole moment to realize that the panicked yowling was from a human. A  _ struggling  _ human.

He had crept down from the building and slunk his way into the narrow back lanes that snaked behind shophouses and apartment blocks. Just when he had thought it was a fantastic idea, he had heard the commotion break out in the front. Someone was making an awful racket by putting up a great fight against the zombies. From the sounds of it, they had something hard and metallic. While Zuko wasn’t the greatest fan of anything that didn’t involve a blade, he had to muster up some respect for the choice.

The yelling came again.

They sounded like they needed help.

Zuko pressed his lips into a thin line and pressed on. He had no time to spare.

Hiking the backpack higher up his shoulder, he walked.

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

A singular swear word.

That was all it took for Zuko to recognize the voice.

**_Sokka_ ** .

Before Zuko could decide otherwise, his instincts took over and he jumped into action.

He rushed through the alley and emerged into a street.

True to his senses, there was a lone figure swarmed by an army of zombies in the middle of the road.  _ Sokka _ . He was wearing some kind of blue hoodie with a space logo on it, some kind of science fair souvenir no doubt. He had a metal bat in hand and a slightly deranged look in his eyes as he swung at the zombies and dared them to come at him. The foolhardy idiot.

That was a lot of fucking zombies, but it didn’t take Zuko long to decide.

He whipped out his machetes.

“Hey!” he shouted with all his might. “Over here!”

The sound triggered an instant reaction.

Sokka’s eyes widened at the sound.

“That’s right, you motherfuckers!” Zuko even waved his hands and smacked his freaking blades together for good measure. “Here!”

The zombies started flocking and growling in his direction, lifeless eyes turned towards him, the attention directed away from Sokka momentarily. Snatching this window of opportunity, Sokka ran with all his might, tearing away from the crowd and disappearing between a few abandoned cars.

Zuko had succeeded, but now? Now he had a huge problem of his own.

There must be at least twenty of them, each one hungry and filled with a feral rage now that Zuko had provoked them. He was outnumbered greatly. One zombie wasn’t too lethal, but a whole crowd of them? They had every advantage in a fight like this. This was a battle he could not win. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Zuko’s fight or flight response wasn’t always correct, but even he would have to say that the answer was pretty obvious here.

_ Run _ .

Bounding through the alley and scrabbling up the brick wall, he didn’t turn once to look at the zombies that had started to give chase. They stumbled after him, shoving past each other and pushing over other zombies in the process. No, they weren’t competing. Zombies were mindless, and knew only one singular focus: infect. So many zombies, and he was now their one and only target. Once they locked onto a human, they didn’t stop giving chase until they were dead again. 

This was bad, very bad.

Once he had cleared the wall, he knew it was only a matter of time before the horde started spilling over. 

Looking around in desperation, Zuko blanched. 

He was stuck. 

“Here!”

He looked up.

Hanging out over the window ledge was none other than Sokka’s leg and stupid denim sneaker waving right above his face.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?!”

“Trying to help you! I can’t reach that far.” Sokka wiggled his foot seriously. “Grab on!”

Zuko obliged, despite the entirely  _ ridiculous _ nature of the circumstances he was presented with. Just as the snarling rushed closer, Sokka managed to haul Zuko up through the window. They tumbled out onto the hardwood floor of an apartment, a mess of limbs. 

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!” 

Leaping to his feet instantly, Zuko tore off across the room and ran out into the hallway.

“Fuck, there’s more of them!”

The zombies turned at the sound, rushing towards them.

“We can’t turn back,” Sokka heaved, glancing back at the window. “We’ll be trapped if we stay!”

“Then we  _ fight _ .”

Zuko brandished his blades.

Sokka tightened his grip on his bat.

Together, they charged off down the corridor.

The blades whistled through the air, slicing through rotten flesh. Every swing of the machetes was punctuated by an accompanying whack of the bat connecting with bone. Every time Zuko slashed a zombie across the neck, Sokka brought his bat down on its head to finish the deed. Before long, they had worked out an unspoken system, bringing down the zombies in their path.

They cleared one hallway and turned into the next.

This one was empty.

“Do you know how to get out of here?” Zuko asked.

“I took the fire escape, but it’s on the other side.”

“Then we’ll get there.”

Sneaking over to the door that opened up into the other wing of the building, Zuko pulled it open and stuck his head out like a tortoise. 

More zombies.

“ _ Nope _ .” He quickly withdrew, closing the door gingerly. “There’s more.”

“How many?”

“About four or five.”

“We can take them.”

Sokka nodded.

“On my count,” Zuko whispered. “One, two,  _ three _ .”

They burst out into the corridor, weapons in hand. 

“I’ll take the left!” Sokka shouted. “You go right.”

“Wait—”

Sokka was already running.

Zuko took off after him, but it didn’t stop the confusion running through his head. Did Sokka know? How did he figure it out?

Sokka bashed his bat through the skull of the first zombie they encountered, the remnants of its insides splattering across the pasty wallpaper. He had a good swinging force, one that was enough to shatter the kneecaps of the next one that came at him. He didn’t seem to have much experience with fighting, and relied more on sheer determination and urgency rather than skill, but he still put up such a valiant fight that it didn’t really matter in the end.

Zuko yelled, charging at the zombies on his right with his machetes. The sounds of flesh being sliced open was terrible, but he could feel himself easing back into the rhythm of the fight. He dodged and slashed, slashed and dodged, his feet sure on the ground as he tumbled and rolled about, avoiding any gnashing teeth and outstretched hands. One bite and it was  _ over _ .

“Fuck!” 

Zuko turned around.

Sokka was backed up against a wall, the bat rolling a few metres away. 

“Sokka!”

The zombie looming over him was snapping at Sokka with its rotten jaw, trying to get at him.

“ _ ArghhH _ !”

Sokka was struggling, trying to push the zombie off of him and swatting at its face with one hand as he reached out his other arm and tried to grab the bat. He was being shoved up against the wall with no space to move, the bat staying just a little out of reach from his hand. So close yet so far. The agony on his face was apparent. That was the fear of someone who knew they were about to  _ die _ .

Another zombie lunged at Zuko.

He evaded and tackled it.

He had to help Sokka.

Moving backwards as he fought the zombies in front of him, Zuko tried to look over his left shoulder for the bat on the floor. He couldn’t see it  _ and _ look out for zombies in his peripheral vision at the same time. He couldn’t see very well out of his left eye, much less around him.

“Hold on!” Zuko yelled, mustering up all his strength. He was breathing so hard he could barely hear himself over the sound of his own thundering heart.

He let his instincts take over.

One moment he was knocking down the zombie over Sokka. 

The next moment he was sweeping the legs out from under the two other zombies in front of him as he went down with the one he tackled.

They all went crashing down.

Leaping to his feet before the zombies could recover, Zuko spun and cut, slicing through all the necks of the zombies that lay in a pile on the floor before him.

The hallway went silent.

All that remained was the heavy panting of the two of them.

Sokka’s eyes were wide as he stared at Zuko.

“What?”

“No, no, just. Thanks,” Sokka managed to speak. 

“Don’t mention it,” Zuko grunted. He’d paid his debt off. A life for a life. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just a little shaken up.”

“Are you sure?” Zuko asked again. “You look a little red.”

A flash of something crossed Sokka’s eyes, but it was gone the next second.

“Yeah, I think I just need to sit down for a bit,” he said.

“You do that.” Zuko fixed him a look. “I’ll check the next corridor.”

Sokka slumped back down against the bloodstained wall. His heart was thumping, but it wasn’t just from the fight, no. In that hallway, Sokka came to terms with the fact that he found Zuko  _ hot _ , but he also came to terms with the fact that he would never tell him. Even though Zuko was bloody and dishevelled and panting, he was fast-tracking his way to becoming the  _ hottest fucking thing _ that Sokka had ever laid his eyes upon. He may be just a little turned on right now. 

“All clear.” Zuko came back.

“Fire escape is right through here.” Sokka ducked his head, pushing past Zuko.

They emerged out onto a sturdy fire escape that ran down the side of the short apartment building. Right across from the fire escape was a familiar tall building: the hotel. The road here was overrun with abandoned cars, but all the zombies must have flocked over to the other street, where they must have heard the commotion. They were alone now.

“How did you find me?” Zuko demanded.

“I followed the smell of a certain  _ thief _ ,” Sokka retorted.

Zuko frowned.

“Sorry.”

“Hey man, I’m not offended,” Sokka continued. “You did what you had to do.”

“Well, you should be,” Zuko said. “I know it was wrong.”

Sokka hummed in thought.

“Well, I’m not here for an apology.”

“Then why did you leave?” Zuko asked, looking at the hotel.

“I came to warn you,” Sokka said. “This area’s infested with tons of them. Especially at night, it’s like they gather in clusters and then attack. Set one off and you’ll set all of them off.”

Sokka could be apathetic at times, but even he couldn’t just sit by and watch someone walk off into their own death. Maybe it was Zuko’s pretty face, or maybe it was the fact that Sokka hadn’t seen a single human being in forever, but either way he couldn’t have just sat in the hotel knowing that Zuko was marching off into an almost certain doom. No, it had to be his morals. Zuko was just a stranger. There was no way he gave that much of a shit about a pretty face. 

“Warn me?” Zuko’s eyes narrowed. Was this dude playing at something here? “You’re crazy.”

“I’ve been told that a lot.” Sokka rubbed his neck. He was so going to be sore in the morning.

“I can hold my own,” Zuko said brusquely.

It was his most tactful way of saying that he didn’t need anybody’s help, least of all Sokka’s.

“Yeah, I kinda figured on the way here,” Sokka sighed.

They watched the quiet street in silence for a while. The sun was quickly climbing higher and higher now, the city lit up in the light. The streaks of gold and red in the sky were quickly fading away, replaced by a clear, cloudless blue—a new day.

“Where were you going to go, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko answered. “Outside the city.”

“The countryside?”

“It’s much safer there. Fewer zombies.”

“ _ And _ fewer supplies,” Sokka pointed out.

“That’s why I came here in the first place,” Zuko said. “And that’s why I’m leaving.”

“You can’t keep running, Zuko.”

“Well, you can’t keep hiding, Sokka.”

Sokka tilted his head to argue, but he sighed in response.

Zuko met his stare.

“So, what do we do now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to bring out the desolation in the worldbuilding, and how it's so easy to lose hope in these stark circumstances, but ultimately hope comes from the heart, and these fuckers are about to find out like. a buncha chapters down the road.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	6. The Overrun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All his stuff, his inventions, his research, it was all back there on the ninth floor. All his devices, his supplies, his belongings. Everything that he had attached some sort of sentiment to or got to call his own. Everything he had dedicated himself to learning in the past months of being trapped inside. Everything that had kept him company in the coldest and loneliest nights. The life he had built for himself. All that was still back inside the hotel. The knowledge that they were all right there and he couldn’t get back to them made his heart twist up in pain.  
> Zuko couldn’t do anything but offer him a hand on his shoulder.  
> Sokka hung his head.  
> “Well, there goes my fortress of solitude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you thought they were going separate ways? you fool.

“Don’t die,” Sokka said.

“I won’t,” Zuko snorted. “It’ll take a lot more than zombies to kill me.”

They fell into a palpable silence. This may very well be the last time they ever saw each other.

“If you ever need more supplies.” Sokka eyed Zuko’s backpack. “You know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Zuko said. “Thanks.”

His impression of Sokka hadn’t quite changed, but he had developed a newfound respect for him. Not only did Sokka try to warn him, he still opened up his doors to Zuko once again even though he had already betrayed his trust once. A little prickling of guilt started up inside Zuko’s reckless heart. Forgiving someone wasn’t easy, and showing them kindness again was even harder. It was a hard thing for anyone to do, and Zuko respected hard decisions. 

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side,” Sokka said, grinning like he had every right to be smiling at the end of the world. Swiping the staff pass over the locking system, he got ready to open the doors. 

Zuko couldn’t bring himself to smile back.

“Goodbye, Zuko.”

The doors started to open.

It was time.

“Goodbye, Sokka.”

Zuko ran. He didn’t look back.

It wasn’t until he was about three blocks away—crawling through smashed concrete and fallen bars—that he finally turned around to look back at the hotel. It was easily visible from this distance, tall and stable, like a beacon in the silence. Sokka had a stronghold, and he was not wrong to stay in it, but staying and hiding in one place for too long wasn’t Zuko’s cup of tea. 

His stay in the city hadn’t been entirely pleasant, but it hadn’t been too bad either. 

He was glad he had found someone else here. Even if he had lost all faith in the world, it was still nice to know he wasn’t completely alone.

A growling sounded in the distance.

Zuko dropped behind a fallen door.

_ Zombies _ .

He waited for the sound to get closer, but it never did.

He peeked out over the rubble.

They were headed for the hotel.

It should be worrying, but zombies couldn’t get in there. Sokka wouldn’t allow it. If there was anything that Zuko had learnt about Sokka in the past two days they had seen each other, it was that Sokka was perfectly capable of holding his own. He could hold down the fort himself. He had been doing it for a long time, and this time was no different. 

Still, Zuko waited.

The zombies weren’t stopping.

Something was wrong here.

Against his better judgement, Zuko turned back.

He didn’t have to. In fact, he didn’t even know if he wanted to. There were so many reasons that this was a bad idea, but something had pushed them aside in his mind and sent him running back to the hotel to check. So, check he did.

The sight that greeted him was horrifying.

_ The doors weren’t closed. _

The zombies kept coming, all of them rushing into the hotel at once, like a flood that had descended upon the entire building. The doors had been smashed wide open, the glass hanging uselessly at the side as the crowd surged into the lobby. 

_ Sokka _ .

Straining his neck to see from behind a car, Zuko was lost. There was no way he was breaking through the wave of zombies, and no way was he going in there without a plan.

Sokka could already be dead.

Sokka could already be one of them.

Zuko paled. Was this because of him?

The doors. They must have gotten in when Sokka opened them for him to leave. Something must have gone wrong with the locking mechanism. A zombie could’ve snuck in. Sokka could’ve tried to fight it and push it back out to shut the doors, but more of them could have barged in.

_ Shit _ . 

Zuko doubled around back and tried to find another way into the building. He climbed over a pile of trash cans and under a fence before he found the back of the hotel where he first climbed in. Deep inside his jackrabbiting heart, he knew it was most likely a lost cause. That many zombies and one Sokka? The chances were next to none.

He should just leave.

There was no earthly reason that he should risk his life for someone he barely knew, and someone who was probably already one of them.

He gripped his backpack tighter, his fists ghost white as he turned away.

He had to get out of here.

“ _ Zuko _ !”

No fucking way.

Zuko looked up.

There was Sokka, staring back down at him from the second floor window. His eyes were filled with a panic that Zuko was all too familiar with. 

“Fucking hell.” 

Zuko looked around for something that could cushion Sokka’s fall if he jumped.

There was nothing.

“You have to jump!” Zuko urged. “I’ll catch you.”

Sokka grimaced. 

“I swear, I’ll catch you! Just fucking jump you idiot!”

“Okay, okay!” Sokka leaned out of the window and looked down. Then he retreated back into the room and vanished.

“Sokka!” Zuko called out. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Why did he care so much about someone he had barely even met?

“What about my stuff?”

“Just leave it!” Zuko frowned.

“Fuck…” Sokka buried his hands in his hair.

The zombies were almost breaking through the door, thumping at the wood.

It was  _ his _ stuff. He couldn’t just leave like that—

“We have to go!” 

Sokka inhaled shakily.

“Okay! Jumping.”

Swinging his legs over the ledge, Sokka looked down at Zuko, who had his arms outstretched as he readied himself to catch him. It was a leap of faith, one that Zuko knew would take a lot. If the roles had been reversed, Zuko would have had a hard time finding the faith to jump.

“You better not fucking drop me—”

“Fucking  _ JUMP _ .”

Sokka jumped.

He landed right on top of Zuko. Both of them tumbled to the floor.

Zuko could feel the combined weight of their heavy breathing.

Sokka’s foot had hooked into Zuko’s shoulder along the way, and he tripped trying to get up.

“Well, that was a  _ trip _ ,” Sokka said.

“Can you please get off me?”

“C’mon, it was a good pun.”

“Tell me you didn’t break anything,” Zuko mumbled, brushing himself off. It was not over yet. They still had to get out of here.

“My neck’s a little sore, but I don’t think so.”

“Did you get bitten?” Zuko’s stance made it absolutely clear that it was a serious question. He made it clear that he would not hesitate to eliminate any potential threats. Sokka included.

“No,” Sokka said, dusting himself off to be sure. “The zombification process happens in twenty seconds on average, I would’ve already turned into a zombie up there if I had been bitten.”

Zuko lowered his arms. 

“Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Where?”  
“I don’t know!” Zuko threw his arms up. “Anywhere but here.”

“Okay then, lead the way.”

“Why don’t you suggest a place?” Zuko grumbled.

“I don’t know this city,” Sokka said. “I don’t know this place.”

It took Zuko a moment, but he looked up at Sokka like he was seeing him for the first time. 

“I haven’t been outside the hotel in  _ months _ , Zuko. Hell, this isn’t even my city!”

Zuko knew Sokka had been holed up inside for a while now, but he wasn’t expecting months. 

“Where are you from then?” Zuko asked.

“Somewhere far away from here,” Sokka sighed. “I flew in from the other side of the world.”

Zuko went quiet. So, not only had Sokka been living on his own for months now, he had been living on his own in a completely foreign land overrun by zombies, not knowing if he could ever return home. Not knowing if there even  _ was _ a home to return to. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard that was. At least he had grown up in this very city. He knew all its streets and signs and where they could go. He knew the layout of its buildings and streets and roads and highways. He had once called it  _ home _ . 

“I’m sorry you lost your stuff,” Zuko said, softening. “But we have to get out of here. It’s too dangerous to go back in.”

“I know.” Sokka rolled his shoulders. “We should go.”

“I know a place,” Zuko said.

Together, they ran through the maze of short buildings right behind the hotel, hoping that the narrow lanes and confusing layouts would be enough to shake any zombie on their trail. Then, they clambered up a fire escape about a few blocks away, hoisting themselves onto the roof of an apartment block a good distance away from the hotel. It was high up enough to see the sea of zombies that surrounded its doors, waiting. 

Sokka took one longing glance back at the hotel. It hadn’t been much of a home, but it was where he had learnt to survive and built what could be called a life for himself in the past months. It was strange, and sad knowing that he probably couldn’t ever return to it.

All his stuff, his inventions, his research, it was all back there on the ninth floor. All his devices, his supplies, his belongings. Everything that he had attached some sort of sentiment to or got to call his own. Everything he had dedicated himself to learning in the past months of being trapped inside. Everything that had kept him company in the coldest and loneliest nights. The life he had built for himself. All that was still back inside the hotel. The knowledge that they were all right there and he couldn’t get back to them made his heart twist up in pain

Zuko couldn’t do anything but offer him a hand on his shoulder.

Sokka hung his head.

“Well, there goes my fortress of solitude.”

“This is no hotel, but it’ll do.”

The room was musty and dim, and the only window was a single-hanging panel that opened out into a dusty back alley that was boarded up and littered with potholes. There was a distant squeaking of old pipes, and even the door creaked on its hinges. The floor was concrete, patchy and scratched up in places. There was a singular air-conditioning unit in the corner, but there was no remote. Not that it mattered, there was no electricity in here anyway.

The two of them had located the furthest apartment block from the roads, and barged into one of the single-room apartments in the back. Away from the zombies, but right next to a cornered roof right outside so they could make a quick getaway if need be.

Sokka started to unpack what supplies they had left from Zuko’s trusty backpack.

“So, wanna tell me what happened back there?”

“The doors couldn’t close,” Sokka said. “It was like the power just  _ stopped _ .”

Zuko nodded. He didn’t need to ask any further.

“Then they saw me. And I ran.”

Zuko sat down next to him.

“I ran to the second floor and locked myself into one of those rooms, but they were already outside, banging on the door,” Sokka recalled. “I thought I was going to die in there.”

Zuko looked down at his feet. He had been there before.

“But then I saw you,” Sokka continued. “I would never have jumped if you weren’t yelling at me like a fucking idiot.”

“Well, this fucking idiot saved your life.” Zuko crossed his arms. “Consider it a debt repaid.”

Sokka gave him a look. 

“Thanks.”

He paused, stilling.

“I don’t want to die, Zuko.” Sokka tossed down a roll of gauze on the floor. “I’m sure you understand that.”

Of course Zuko understood. They were both survivors. They were both human. The instinct to survive was so great that it had been fuelling Zuko along just fine this past six months. He didn’t know what he was fighting for, but by god was he going to get there till the end. Survival was natural, and when all civilization had collapsed and mankind compromised, nature was what you could count on.

“But my stuff. It was like I left my whole life back there,” Sokka chuckled bitterly. “It was all I knew after the wave struck. All my time, my effort, everything I learned, the life I built for myself alone. It was all back there, and I just left it all behind.”

Zuko couldn’t understand what exactly that was like, but he could understand leaving his life behind. The moment the city was taken over by zombies, there wasn’t a life before the apocalypse anymore. That was all in the past, hidden in memories and overtaken by time. Who you were before the apocalypse didn’t matter anymore. Your past identity? Gone. The people you loved? Taken. Everything you cherished? Should’ve cherished it more.

“You did what you had to.”

He couldn’t find the right words to say to Sokka, but he could at least try to empathize.

“I know what it’s like, Sokka.”

“How?”

Zuko lowered his head.

“I left home before the wave even struck.”

Sokka looked up, eyebrows pressed together.

“I left my entire life behind before the world took it from me,” Zuko continued. “Ran away from home. I was on my own when it happened.”

He had spent months in advance gearing up to survive alone in a completely different part of the city. He had saved up enough to pay rent for a few months, was ready to get a job, and reinvent his identity. All part of the plan to start living for himself. What he wasn’t prepared for was the arrival of the goddamn apocalypse. How did you even get ready for the end of the world?

Sokka blinked, taking in this new information.

“What did it feel like?”

“It felt like hell,” Zuko admitted. “But liberating. It was strangely liberating. Like I was getting a new start, finally making a change, doing my own thing.”

“Do you regret it?” 

“No. No I don’t,” Zuko said resolutely. “I had to leave behind things I love, but I don’t regret it.”

Sokka swallowed, nodding.

“Do you wish you could go back sometimes?”

“Yes,” Zuko said, truthfully. He didn’t know why he was suddenly opening up to Sokka. He didn’t do that. He didn’t open up, in general. Especially not to strangers. Well, maybe you weren’t strangers anymore when you’ve both saved each other’s lives and fought through an entire horde of zombies side by side. The standards for social interaction were kind of low in the apocalypse. He wouldn’t know.

Sokka had grown quiet, a thinking look in his eyes. Moments ago, he had looked like he was still in a daze of confusion and loss, but it was slowly starting to wear off. It was a curious look, like he was deep in thought, but his eyes were anything but lost. 

“I see,” He replied simply. The hazy look in his eyes was gone. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Answering my questions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have put a lot of thought into characterization for this whole story, and I feel like this chapter particularly encapsulates and lays the foundation for their differences, and how they can be united by these differences. They're finally seeing each other beyond their initial impressions and misgivings and personal prejudices, and it's only the beginning.
> 
> And look, when you're in an apocalypse, anything that you have the luxury of calling your own is, a very big deal. I've tried to emphasize Sokka's pain in leaving everything he knew behind, and I hope I've done a decent job of it.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	7. The Grocery Run Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s fucking sunny.”  
> “Yeah, I believe that’s called the sun, Sokka.”  
> “I know what the sun is,” Sokka huffed. “Just not used to being under it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the flamethrower chapter

“So, how do you make your grocery lists?”

“What, you make grocery lists?” Zuko scoffed.

“It’s a perfectly normal method of tracking what you need to buy and keeping you from spending too much on things you don’t need,” Sokka retorted. “Maybe you should try it someday.”

Zuko offered a dry laugh.

He was starting to understand Sokka’s humor now. Maybe even starting to be entertained by it.

“Do you have one now?” 

“Of course, what kind of alien do you take me for?” Sokka snorted, pulling out a piece of paper from a pocket in his hoodie. He had scribbled on it with a hotel ballpoint pen, a final souvenir that he had swiped out of a bedside drawer before he jumped. If he couldn’t have any of his stuff, he could at least take this one thing. 

Zuko had to swallow his laughter, impressed and incredulous. 

They stalked across the empty parking lot, ducking behind cars and watching out for any movement. The sun was high in the sky, sweltering and merciless as it bore down on their backs, sweat soaking through their shirts. They needed new clothes, and they needed food. 

They had slept once the sun went down, having filled their stomachs with whatever they could pull out of the backpack. Salty crackers and canned tuna was not exactly the most gourmet meal around, but it was luxurious enough considering their newfound circumstances. Sleep had been pretty uneventful—no dreams, but no nightmares either. Zuko wasn’t used to falling asleep with someone else in the vicinity, but the moment he saw Sokka fall asleep, he too was pulled into a dreamless rest. It almost reminded him of a time he had shared a room with his sister, before his mother left them. He would beg her for bedtime stories and tales of the unknown, and while she always indulged him, his sister would stalk off to bed and throw the covers over her head. She often called them silly tales, but he supposed now he could see that she was just feeling left out. She felt like a stranger in his own room, but one whose presence was enough to lull him to sleep every night.

And it went on like that for a while. Sokka fell asleep first, and then Zuko followed. It went on for maybe two days? Maybe a week? Maybe two weeks? It was hard to tell. You tended to lose track of your time when there wasn’t a singular functioning clock or watch in sight. Zuko thought counting the days were kind of pointless when there was nothing to count down to. 

Then, one morning they awoke and there was no more food. 

So they went on a grocery run.

“Are you sure there are no zombies in this one?”

“Yeah, I’ve been watching this one building for a while now,” Sokka explained. He thought back fondly on his telescope turned binoculars set. He had always perched it near the window and adjusted the power, scoping out the foreign city outside when he had the time. He would watch the clouds go by and see the artefacts of life in shop windows, speculate about the rooftops and the houses, play little guessing games with himself. “I’ve always wondered what it was.”

“Well, now you know,” Zuko said, gesturing comically to the dusty sign.

It was a fairly secluded department store and supermarket, away from the city center, which meant that they had to travel across small lanes and such for about an hour and a half on foot to get there. It had been a fairly popular chain in the past, one that was well-stocked with cheap prices—not that the prices mattered now, but it was worth a mention.

Zuko still wasn’t sure how they ended up here, how they ended up  _ working together _ , but he wasn’t as against it as he first expected to be. Sokka possessed some unexpected skill sets that could come in handy for survival. He knew a strange lot about botany and medicine, as well as physics and astronomy. While the latter may not be particularly useful in a zombie apocalypse, it made for some very interesting fact-sharing conversations. Did you know that gravity only attracts? It has no negative counterpart, nothing that pushes things away like the way gravity held entire universes together. Yet it was a force that was weak enough to be opposed even in the simple act of Zuko lifting his foot. He felt a curious sense of whimsy in doing that.

“It’s fucking  _ sunny _ .”

“Yeah, I believe that’s called the sun, Sokka.”

“I know what the sun is,” Sokka huffed. “Just not used to being under it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Zuko shrugged.

“I’m just hoping I don’t get skin cancer.”

“Skin cancer might be the last of my concerns right now.”

Time to add sunblock to their combined grocery list. 

The coast looked relatively clear. 

“On my count, we run towards the doors,” Zuko whispered. “The doors will probably be locked shut, but we can force it open with this. Once we get there, we’ll only have about a five to ten second window once any zombies spot us, so we have to work fast.” 

He held up a crowbar.

“Got it.”

Nodding, they turned towards the doors.

“One.”

Sokka inhaled.

“Two.”

He gripped his bag tighter.

“Three.”

_ Wait. _ Fuck.

“Zuko, wai—”

Zuko took off like a bullet.

“Oh,  _ fuck fuck fuck _ .” Sokka ran after him, trying not to scream his warning.

The zombie on their far left lurched into a run.

Zuko didn’t even spare it a  _ look _ . He continued speeding off towards the doors, crowbar in hand. Once he reached the padlock, he brought it down onto the metal with a terrifyingly loud clang, his movements hurried but sure. 

The zombie only sped up.

“There’s more coming!”

“Almost there!” Zuko swung again.

The padlock gave way.

They crashed in through the doors—a thrashing pile of limbs and screams—pulling it close just as the zombies started to surge up against the glass. With their combined effort and a lot of swearing, they managed to pull the metal shutter down, closing over the glass and sealing them off from the outside world. For good measure, Sokka moved a table over from the nearest food kiosk, and Zuko contributed with a whole food cart.

“That should hold them.”

“It better.” Zuko sunk to the floor, taking oxygen into his lungs. 

“That was— _ shit _ .”

“Yeah, it was shit alright,” Zuko sighed.

Sokka could only stare. Not even the thundering in his throat and the screaming in his chest could dull his respect for Zuko’s unbending focus. Talk about performing under pressure. Nobody should be that calm when facing off against flesh-eating creatures, but Zuko was living proof. He wasn’t exactly convinced yet that Zuko didn’t just walk straight out of an action movie. 

“Why would you risk yourself like that?”

“What do you mean?” Zuko stared at him like he couldn’t possibly have any earthly understanding of what Sokka was asking.

“You just  _ threw _ yourself out there at the mercy of all those zombies.”

“Yeah, why?”

“How do you do that?”

“I just do,” Zuko said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I had to do it.”

“How do you say that so easily?” Sokka was bewildered.

“Don’t you get it?” Zuko said. “I have  _ nothing _ left to lose.”

Sokka’s eyes widened, but he blinked and the shock in his eyes was gone.

“I hope that changes one day.”

Zuko looked at him like he was crazy. Then he got to his feet, facing the doors.

“Well, we can’t go out there now.”

“Yeah, this place better be good,” Sokka huffed.

“We should get new clothes first,” Zuko said.

“Right.”

They started walking towards the clothing section. 

“So, did you have a style before this whole thing started?”

Zuko turned to look at Sokka.

“Well, all I wore was black. And red, maybe.”

“Wow, edgy kid,” Sokka remarked, earning a look from Zuko.

“Still very much one,” Zuko sighed, pointing down at himself. The bullies from school were certainly laughing now. “Who would’ve known the whole leather and boots thing could prove so handy during a zombie apocalypse?”

Sokka chuckled.

The store was deserted and dim, but it was preserved like a freeze frame. The racks were still filled and the shelves still stacked, and the lifeless mannequins on display stared them down as they walked past. It was both surreal and creepy. This must have been one of the few areas in the city that managed to skirt the worst of the outbreak and locked down before the wave reached it. It had broken out first in the city center, which was a good distance away from here. As deranged as the zombies were, they still had human bodies, and humans could only run so far so fast.

Hopefully it meant good news for them.

“Well, I’m a fan of hoodies,” Sokka offered.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Zuko ran a thumb down the sleeve of Sokka’s science hoodie. The fabric was nice and soft and thick, not unlike one of those fuzzy quilts they sold in the stores. Hoodies looked cozy, but they weren’t his thing. Not in this weather, anyway. Not that his jacket was much better off, but at least the leather was thick enough to be valid protective wear. Zombies couldn’t bite through leather on the first try. Hoodies were just cotton, a comforting artifact from a better time that served no real purpose in the apocalypse.

Sokka shivered. 

“How are you cold?” Zuko snorted. “There’s no air-conditioning in here. You’re literally wearing a hoodie. It’s like a hundred degrees outside.”

“No clue,” Sokka bit out. “Maybe there’s a ghost in the vicinity or something.”

He could still feel the weight of Zuko’s fingertips ghosting over his arm through the fabric.

“You believe in ghosts?”

“You don’t?” 

“You’re a science guy!” Zuko exclaimed. He didn’t really have a fully-formed opinion on the paranormal. Ghosts can exist, sure, but he couldn’t give a flying shit about them. He had better things to be concerned with than speculating about the existence of non-corporeal and possibly-translucent entities in the apocalypse, thanks.

“So what? Scientific and paranormal phenomena can coexist!” Sokka retorted.

“If they existed, wouldn’t this mall be crowded with them right now?”

“No, because they’re all too busy off being zombies right now.”

Something crashed in the background. 

“What was that?” Zuko asked.

“It’s probably just a rat or something,” Sokka said. “I hope.”

“Let’s move faster.”

They wove through many racks and walls of clothes before they ended up in a section where they could root around for fresh and clean clothes that fit them. As much as a sense of style didn’t matter in the apocalypse, the two of them had silently agreed that holding onto this small part of their original identities was comforting in these dark times.

Fashion had always been something that Zuko took for granted. He had grown up with good clothes on his back, and a well-stocked closet his entire life. He couldn’t believe it took him an entire zombie apocalypse and thousands of bloodstains and unmendable tears and rips to get him to finally realize how fortunate he had been. It was truly ironic, how he was only getting to wear what he truly wanted now, when everyone around him was dead.

“Double denim? Really, Sokka?”

“Hey, don’t shit on it,” Sokka said, picking a pair of jeans off the rack. “Denim on denim is  _ in _ this season. I happen to appreciate a solid jean jacket, and not having my arm chomped off immediately.”

Zuko shook his head. As much as he hated to admit it, Sokka looked good in blue. Plus, denim was one of the more practical options here. Denim was thick, much like leather was. They were both good options when it came to post-apocalyptic zombie-resistant wear. If there was anything that zombie movies taught him, that is.

“Are those glasses fake?”

Sokka was holding up a pair of silver, wire frame glasses that had no purpose other than to make the wearer look snobby and pretentious.

Zuko thought it was pretty stupid.

“If you’re going to keep shitting on my clothing choices, I’m going to roast yours back,” Sokka huffed. “Be warned. I’m coming for you, edgelord.”

“Okay, okay!” Zuko said. He kind of didn’t want to find out just how vicious Sokka’s roasts could be. “Just saying.”

He continued looking for something to replace the leather jacket he had on.

“So, what are you searching for?” Sokka leaned over.

“A new jacket,” Zuko replied. “I found a bunch of new shirts to wear underneath, and pants to go with those, but I need something to cover it with.”

“Why not just keep the one you have on?” Sokka suggestd.

“Really?” Zuko didn’t really think about that.

“You look good in it.”

Sokka’s shoulders seized, his eyes shooting open. Had he really just said that?

“I do?” Zuko said. 

“Yeah, yeah yeah yeah.” No turning back now. Sokka wanted to slap himself. “Keep it.”

Zuko turned to look in a mirror.

“Yeah? I think I will.”

He wandered off through the shelves, looking for more stuff.

Sokka sighed to himself. One of these days, his big mouth was going to get him in trouble.

“Hey, there are fitting rooms here,” Zuko called out.

“Neat! What say we try on some clothes?” Sokka flashed him a grin.

Zuko laughed. 

Sokka swore that laugh was going to be the death of him some day.

“Sure.”

Moments later, they emerged from twin fitting rooms.

Well,  _ fuck _ .

There were a million thoughts running through Sokka’s head right now, and some notable mentions included  _ Shit he looks good _ and  _ Oh god those pants should be illegal _ .

“You look like you’re ready to conduct a pyramid raid,” he blurted out in his panic.  _ Argh _ . He did not mean to sound so condescending.

Zuko was decked out in black upon black upon black. He had paired a black shirt with the jacket, the neckline gracing his collarbones and exposing a sheen of sweat on his skin. The all-black look was doing wonders for his sunned complexion, drawing out the gold in his eyes. He looked good in black, Sokka decided. Very good.  _ Dangerously _ good. 

“Well, you look... _ good _ ,” Zuko said.

Sokka had gotten rid of the dirty hoodie, trading it in for a slim-fit grey tank top and a jean jacket. He had done his hair up into a topknot, tufts falling around his face in an alluringly casual manner. Had Sokka’s eyes always been this blue? Fuck, those stupid fake glasses actually looked good on him. Fake glasses should  _ not _ look that good on anyone. 

“Hey!” Sokka said, indignantly. Then he paused. “Wait, what?”

“You look good,” Zuko repeated, face flushing. 

“Oh,” Sokka said, dumbly. “ _ Oh _ .”

He managed to barely choke out a word of thanks before turning around to self-combust.

“Let’s go get food,” Zuko said, trying desperately to switch the topic.

“Yeah,  _ yeah _ . Let’s go.” Sokka was glad for the way out. He didn’t know how much more gay panic his heart could take.

They crossed an empty stretch of tiled floor to the food and produce sections. The place was darker here, the shelves having been pressed together back to back in a hurry. The ground was vaguely sticky under their feet, and Zuko recoiled a little inside every time he took a step further. It smelled like something had died in here, which may very well be true. There was a row of dormant freezers near the front, but they bypassed that. Anything inside must have already gone bad ages ago. 

They passed a shelf of packaged meat.

“Beef jerky,” Zuko almost laughed.

“What?”

“Long story.”

They skipped the fresh produce section entirely, barely dodging the clouds of flies. There was nothing for them there. Cockroaches scampered about in the dried goods section, but the selection here was much better than whatever leftovers Zuko had found in the supermarket that fateful day. He brushed a few cups of instant noodles off the shelf into his backpack, scoring a few packets of soup stock with it. Noodles were filling, easy to prepare, and they could be kept for long. Definitely his first choice of apocalyptic meal item. It really took him back to his college days, where all he ate was instant ramen and seasoning powder. It was a luxury then, still was a luxury now.

Meanwhile, Sokka was rooting about in the canned food shelves to his left.

“Hey, beans. Catch,” Sokka said, tossing the can towards Zuko once he got his attention.

Zuko reached out to catch it, but he missed, blinking in surprise instead.

The can went clattering to the floor.

Sokka whitened.  _ Fuck _ . He had forgotten.

“Sorry!” he said, hands shooting up to his face in horror. “Shouldn’t have thrown it.”

“It’s alright,” Zuko said, bending down to pick up the can. “But if I have to eat baked beans one more time, I’m going to throw  _ myself _ to the zombies.”

“Pft, it’s not that bad,” Sokka said, still feeling very much apologetic. 

Zuko was so good at doing well,  _ everything _ with his scar that Sokka had forgotten all about it. He had figured out that Zuko probably experienced some degree of visual impairment due to it, but he was so good at covering it that it was hard to figure out if you didn’t watch closely enough. And him? He was  _ definitely _ watching Zuko closely enough. 

“Hey, check this out.”

Sokka held up a bottle of cheap vodka, whistling in appreciation.

“It’s not the good stuff, but I wouldn’t mind taking this back with us.”

“You drink?” Zuko looked up. “How old are you?”

“Why do you make yourself sound like such an old man?” Sokka said. “I’m legal.”

“Doesn’t sound like a good idea to get ourselves drunk when the world’s like this.”

“You make a fair point,” Sokka replied. “But consider this. Now is  _ exactly _ the time to get ourselves drunk when the world’s like this.”

Zuko thought for a second.

“Can’t argue when you put it like that.”

Grinning, Sokka shoved the bottle into his bag.

“We should leave,” Zuko said.

Something crashed in the back again.

“So, a rat huh?” Zuko asked.

“Uhhhhh.”

The clanging only got louder, and this time there was an ugly moaning to accompany it.

There was only one thing it could be: a  _ zombie _ .

“Something’s trying to get in,” Zuko said.

“ _ No _ ,” Sokka breathed, pointing. “Something’s trying to get out.”

As they spun round slowly to face the freezer unit at the back, horror dawned upon them. The zombie wasn’t trying to get in from the outside.  _ The zombie was already in here with them _ .

“Run.”

They scrambled out of the food section and back towards the clothing section, trying to find a place to hide. From the sounds of weakening metal and errant banging, the door wouldn’t hold long. It must’ve heard them walking about and laughing and talking, waking it up from a month-long trance and into a bloodthirsty rage, throwing itself against the hinges and trying to escape. Noise was always the surefire way to get killed by a zombie. 

They ran through the shelves.

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ there’s more,” Sokka hissed, pulling Zuko right out of view.

An incoming zombie stumbled past, missing them by a few inches.

“I should’ve known this place was too good to be true,” Zuko muttered. 

They ducked behind a counter in the cosmetics section.

“We can take them,” Sokka panted.

Zuko gave him a look.

The groaning got closer.

“Hang on.”

Zuko chanced a look, regretting it immediately.

“Fuck, there’s five of them.”

Sokka swore under his breath. He looked around for a way out, a weapon, anything. They were practically boxed in, cornered; their only way out was through the front doors, which were currently boarded up with metal shutters, a table, and an entire food cart. Not to mention there were probably a horde of zombies still scattered around, waiting for them outside. He had seen Zuko take on three zombies, but five? It was ridiculous.

Then his eyes fell upon the deodorant shelf.

“I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Zuko asked, the urgency in his voice increasing as the footsteps got louder.

“You won’t like it.”

“I don’t think I have a choice here.”

“Fuck, okay.” Sokka got onto his feet. “Pass me the matches.”

“Wait, what?”

“Just do it.”

“You’re right, I don’t like it,” Zuko said. He passed Sokka the matches anyway.

“Here goes nothing.”

Sokka leapt out from behind the boxes.

The zombies ran towards him.

He grabbed a can of body spray.

“What the fuck—”

Sokka lit the match. And he  _ sprayed _ .

The resulting stream of fire was breathtaking. Terrifying but breathtaking. It was like a dragon had unleashed the roaring embers of hellfire from the depths of its bowels, the flames glinting in its scales as it flashed like a warning sign through the zombies’ lifeless, dead eyes. The jet of fire shot out of the can and across the floor, startling the undead creatures as they screeched to a halt. Time had been frozen and suspended in the ice of panic and adrenaline, allowing only the rapid burst of fire to hurtle through the air, leaping and stretching forth like the dragon’s talons. It took a blaze of glory to the next level. 

Well, it wasn’t nearly as dramatic, and it probably only happened in like a third of a second if he was being honest, but if Zuko had been born a writer (he was not), he would certainly write entire anthologies about it. Poems. The works.

The zombies shrieked.

Sokka shrieked too.

Zuko was too shocked to even make a sound. But not too shocked to brandish his blades.

It was over in mere moments.

The zombies lay on the floor, twitching, the blood spurting out.

“Sokka,” Zuko said. “What the actual fuck.”

“Improvised flamethrower?” Sokka shrugged sheepishly, dropping the burnt match.

“How, what,  _ why _ —”

“Aerosol can plus lit match equals fire, lots of it,” Sokka explained. If someone told him that Ax body spray would save his life one day, Sokka would laugh in their faces. Imagine the meme potential. Well, he wasn’t laughing now. “If there’s anything that zombies are scared of, it’s fire.”

Zuko made a series of confused sounds, once again impressed and incredulous.

Sokka was really starting to remind him of a mad scientist, but in a good way. Zuko had never been good at thinking on his feet, always letting instinct carry him through. He would have never thought of that, much less had the guts to take the risk. He had done a lot of dangerous things in his life, but he wouldn’t for one second call himself courageous.

“You could’ve gotten burnt, Sokka,” Zuko chided. “Or worse.  _ Died _ . I could’ve fought them.”

“It was a risk worth taking,” Sokka said. “I couldn’t let you take on five zombies all by yourself.”

A risk worth taking. Now that sounded awfully familiar. He had assumed Sokka was a play-it-safe or play-it-by-the-book kind of guy, but he was starting to see how horribly wrong he was about that. Zuko had always wondered how Sokka even ended up in the hotel alone alive—and one could even say  _ comfortably _ alive—but now that he was presented with the fact of the matter, he was starting to see it. He had seen Sokka scared and terrified of losing his life, but by no means was he scared to take a risk. He was a gambler, and the stakes were sky high in the apocalypse. It was play to win, or play to die. Zuko thought it was hopelessly reckless, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t possess even a modicum of respect for that kind of bravado. It had allowed them to live and see another day, after all.

“Wait wait wait,” Zuko said. “How was that different from me throwing myself out there with all the zombies?”

“Well, for one, I can’t say I have nothing left to lose.”

“What  _ do _ you have to lose?” 

“You,” Sokka said, blinking.

Zuko’s eyes widened.

“ _ Oh _ .”

“So it’s different,” Sokka said, tucking the can back on the shelf.

Zuko was floored. 

“Thank you,” he managed to say, a lump of emotion welling up in his throat.  _ Who does Sokka think he is? The idiot _ . An idiot he just might get used to. Which was dangerous. This was all too dangerous. “Now let’s get out of here.”

They ended up escaping the department store through an emergency fire escape—a series of doors that didn’t require electronic means to unlock. They emerged out into the parking lot out back and into a series of narrow lanes that led onto a hill. With the grass underneath their feet, they clambered up the hill to higher ground. Higher, open ground was always a welcome option. It would buy them time if any zombies came after them.

Zuko sprawled out across the grass, exhausted.

“I think I need a ten year nap after that.”

“That’s a mood,” Sokka said, sitting down next to him.

The sun was going to set in a few hours. They should be heading back soon. Yet the instant he saw Zuko lying down, as relaxed an expression as Sokka had ever seen on his face, he decided that they could stay on the grass for a little while.

“We’re really on the edge of the city,” he said. “I’ve never been here before.”

“It’s pretty,” Zuko said. “I used to come here to watch the sunset sometimes.”

“Used to?”

“Then they built that power plant down there,” Zuko nodded towards the looming cluster of steam lines and cooling towers at the base of the hill, fenced in against the trees. This must be where the city generated its electricity before the apocalypse. 

“Interesting,” Sokka murmured to himself, squinting for a closer look.

Zuko was falling asleep.

“Hey.” Sokka smacked Zuko on the shoulder. “Hey. Is it just me, or is that a person down there?”

Zuko sat up, rudely awakened. Rubbing his eyes blearily, he peered down into the grounds of the power plant.

“Do you see that?”

Zuko’s eyes widened, fully awake now.

There was a figure down there, clad in red and blue and walking about with a distinctly sure and knowing gait. He looked young, but it was hard to tell from up here. What Sokka noticed first was the clear gleam of metal, sunlight reflecting off the hook-like weapons he was carrying over his shoulder.

He hadn’t seemed to notice them yet.

“No fucking way,” Zuko breathed. “No fucking way in hell.”

Of all the people it could be, why  _ him _ ?

“Wait, you know him?” Sokka asked.

“Worse,” Zuko said. “He’s my  _ ex _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, Jet finally shows up. It's time to stir the pot, because things are about to take a wilder turn. Okay, maybe not yet. But soon. 
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	8. The Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You don’t have to come with me.”  
> “What do you mean?” Sokka was incredulous. How could Zuko even say that?  
> “It’s dangerous out here, of course I’m coming with you. I’m not gonna just leave you like that.”  
> It was Zuko’s turn to look taken aback.  
> “Okay. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Jet.

So Zuko  _ was  _ gay.

Now what the fuck was Sokka supposed to do with this information?

“Shouldn’t we be heading back?” 

“I need answers,” Zuko said, something clearly weighing down on his mind.

They slid down the hill and walked around the perimeter, all the while ducking between leafy shoots in a bid to shield themselves from view. The chain-link fence loomed high over them, barring them from simply climbing in. The grass got taller and thicker the closer they got to the place, and it was hard not to make a sound when they were practically wrestling with the leaves. The contrast between urban and natural landscapes only became more obvious—the power plant was an island in the middle of an overgrown jungle, marooned from a fallen civilization.

While Zuko was intent on searching for a way in, Sokka was more concerned with watching out for any zombies. If they got ambushed in an obscure place like this, it was  _ over _ . 

“There!”

It was barely an opening large enough to fit any of them. The gnarly, cut ends of the wire leered at them as they drew closer. This was the only way in.

“I’ll go first,” Zuko said.

“Be my guest.” Sokka was not excited about crawling through that hole. Who knew what dangers awaited them on the other side? As much as he was concerned for Zuko’s safety as much as his own, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about getting caught trespassing.

It was too late to back out now.

Zuko bent down and blatantly stuck his arm through the hole, as if he was testing the temperature of bath water instead of preparing himself to slip through a hole carved into a security fence. Sokka had every right to be worried about this guy’s safety. 

“Sokka.”

Sokka looked up in surprise.

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“What do you mean?” Sokka was incredulous. How could Zuko even say that? “It’s dangerous out here, of course I’m coming with you. I’m not gonna just leave you like that.”

It was Zuko’s turn to look taken aback.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Sokka nodded. 

Zuko pushed his way through the fence, careful not to get any clothing or skin caught on the sharp, biting ends of the cut wire. He landed onto a dusty patch of dirt road, where he was afforded a completely unobstructed view of the containment buildings and cooling towers that stretched out as far as the eye could see. So this was the power plant. Everything looked so much bigger up close.

Sokka rolled in right after him.

“I don’t see anybody.”

“Yet,” Zuko added. “Let’s move.”

Staying low to the ground, they crossed over to the nearest building, one that looked more like a holding quarters for workers or an office. If they were going to find anyone, it was here. There was an eerily silent tension brooding in the air, as if they were just waiting for something bad to happen, something terrible that would leap out at them. It made Sokka shiver. 

“There’s nobody inside,” Zuko said, peering in through the half-covered windows. It showed him a view of an empty room on the ground floor, one that provided no clue that anyone was here.

“What do we do now?” Sokka asked.

Zuko’s expression made it very clear that he wasn’t leaving without finding some answers. 

“We search the compound,” Zuko decided. “If we don’t find anybody, we can shut ourselves indoors when the sun sets and wait out the night. We have enough supplies.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Sokka said. 

They moved around the side of the short building, making their way over to the cooling towers.

“Did you hear that?” Sokka whispered.

“Hear what?”

“I don’t know...it sounded like,  _ string _ ?” 

Zuko froze.

“Get down!” 

He jumped on top of Sokka as they both went crashing to the ground, the unmistakable shape of an arrow whistling over their heads, missing them by a few centimetres. The arrow lodged itself into the ground with a thunk, the red feathers sticking out of the ends like a warning.

“What the fuck—”

“Run!” Zuko hissed, dragging Sokka to his feet.

A couple more arrows started raining down on them as they tried to evade, ducking behind the nearest cooling tower. This was ridiculous. Just a few moments ago they were getting chased by bloodthirsty zombies, and now they were getting shot at by arrows in a power plant? When did Sokka’s life get so fucking weird?

Zuko drew his blades.

“Stay here! I’ll handle them,” he said.

“What? I’m not gonna sit around while you—”

Zuko was already charging off into the fray.

Sokka sighed. No way was he going to let Zuko deal with this on his own. He had to find a way. Plucking an arrow out of the ground, he inspected the tip.  _ Bingo _ . He may have just found the solution to all their problems. Okay, maybe not all their problems. They were still marooned in a power plant in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, with no imminent cure to turn a zombie human again, and all they had to eat was baked beans, and more baked beans. So yeah, maybe not all their problems.

Taking one last look over at Zuko, he ran off in the opposite direction.

It’s been a long time since Zuko had seen Jet’s gang, much less fought them. Jet had always been obsessed with political rebellion and social revolution, and he committed so deeply to his beliefs that few have been able to follow him. Those that did joined him as Freedom Fighters—loyal to their leader and their cause. They were all firm believers that they were doing right, and soon they had formed an established paramilitary group that found a rising following in the downtown area. Zuko had known violence and anger for far too long to stick around any longer.

It was quite funny really, how he was back to square one. 

At least this time he was fighting for survival.

Dodging the arrows, Zuko tried to figure out where Longshot was hiding. There was nothing around but cooling towers, but he must be somewhere high up based on the trajectory of his arrows. The cooling towers were gargantuan monsters of concrete and reinforced plastic, surely there were many places the archer could hide. Maybe hidden wires that he couldn’t see? Some sort of woven rope ladder? Either way, Zuko tightened his grip on his machetes. Longshot was infamous for disarming the enemy before landing the fatal blow. He would be dead if he let go of his blades now.

A knife swung from his right.

Smellerbee.

Dropping and rolling, he parried all her blows. Smellerbee was proficient with a blade, but Zuko had a few tricks up his sleeve as well. While Zuko had learnt how to fight with dual blades, Smellerbee only had one. But if their time together in the past had taught him anything, it was not to underestimate Smellerbee at all costs. She slashed at him again, and he rolled away. Her movements were more precise than ever, controlled but not restrained. Looks like she had been training well in his absence.

They weren’t alone.

The metal baton came swinging in from his left, landing a hard strike on his arm as Zuko barely managed to keep it from smashing into his skull. The impact shivered through his arm, sending a wave of pain shooting through his being as he yelped. Pipsqueak was still the largest one out of them all. That much hadn’t changed. He could never have overpower the boy in a fight of sheer strength, relying instead on his agility then. That same agility allowed him to roll out of the way now.

Zuko got out of the way just as a quick shape leapt in from above, as if he had been anticipating it. He wrestled to kick The Duke off of him, the boy’s limbs thrashing about in his face. He had gotten a bit older and a little bit taller since Zuko last saw him. It certainly wasn’t making his job any easier. He merely succeeded in dislodging a wriggling Duke, throwing the boy off to the side and running back around to a cooling tower.

He couldn’t fight them all alone, but that wasn’t what he was preoccupied with.

Where was their leader?

A stone whistled past his head, clanging on the side of the tower.

He whirled around.

“ _ Here _ !” 

Zuko could barely hear Sokka over the sound of the chaos right around the corner, but he understood instantly from his flailing gestures.

Leaping out from behind the tower, he stared the Freedom Fighters right in the eye.

They looked almost surprised to see him.

“ _ Come and get me _ .”

They charged.

Zuko ran, drawing the enemy fire over to Sokka. If there was anything he had learnt, it was that Sokka always had a plan. He ran all the way to the buildings with the gang in tow, darting inside the open doors and looking around for Sokka, the yelling growing louder behind him.

Sokka was perched over a panel of controls, ones that looked entirely foreign to Zuko. 

“Here they come!” 

Sokka hit the switch to turn the electricity back on.

A loud and frenzied humming started up around the room, but the Freedom Fighters didn’t stop charging towards Zuko. The instant they stepped through those doors, something miraculous happened. It was like magic,  _ sorcery _ , the way their weapons flew out of their hands and out of their holsters, landing on the walls with a loud clang. Zuko would forever file away the image of a shocked Longshot in his head for a good laugh when this was all over.

Now that was a surprise that none of them saw coming.

“What happened?” Zuko said, having managed to slip away and join Sokka in the adjoining control room in the confusion.

“Electromagnets happened,” Sokka said, quite a bit smug with himself. “I figured that this place should have some pretty powerful ones. They’re used to generate electrical currents.”

“Doesn’t explain how you managed to—do  _ that _ .” 

Zuko peered out through the glass. 

The Freedom Fighters were still trying very hard to detach their weapons from the wall. There was visible confusion in the air as they pulled and tugged at their blades and arrows. He thought Smellerbee looked quite comical trying to jump up at her knife, parked just slightly out of her reach. He wanted to laugh, but he felt just as confused as they looked.

“Iron.” Sokka held up the arrow. “They’re made of iron.”

“A magnetic material,” Zuko said. He may not be the smartest one out of the bunch, but even he possessed some basic knowledge of elementary school science. 

“Yup,” Sokka said. “I found a pair of pliers in the backroom, then it took me a bit to figure out the wiring in this place—it’s nothing like I’ve ever seen by the way—but I managed to switch the positions of the wires and determine the poles, essentially enabling me to—”

“—reverse the polarity of the electromagnets.  _ Smart _ .”

Zuko whipped out his machetes.

“Easy now.”

Leaning across the control room was a very familiar figure, dressed in some form of makeshift armor over his blue and red clothes—spiked shoulder pads and knee guards and bracers. Slung across his back were two hook-like weapons, swords now that they could see him up close. His hair hung over his face, scraggly and pointed in areas that gave him the dishevelled look of a difficult teenager. There was an easy but loaded smile stretched across his face, and it wasn’t too hard to call him good-looking, no matter how hard you didn’t want to.

Zuko narrowed his eyes. There was no doubt about it now.

“ _ Jet _ .”

“A nuclear thermal power plant,” Sokka breathed. “Never thought I’d get to see one.”

The cooling towers only loomed higher in the light of the fading sun. The clouds of waste heat continued to billow out of them in steam-like plumes, apocalyptic against the dimming sky. The grays of the power plant seemed to get bleaker in the night, coming alive with an emptiness that chilled Sokka to the core. It was a reminder of how far humanity had come, as well as a reminder of how little it took to send the entire world crumbling to their knees. 

“Yeah, pretty cool right?” Jet chuckled.

“Save the theatrics.” Zuko rolled his eyes.

“Look, Zuko.” Jet put up his hands in what was meant to be a peaceful gesture. “We’re all survivors here, I’m sure we can learn to get along. Think of it as a new beginning.”

“Still ever the smooth talker,” Zuko laughed bitterly. “Nice to see that some things never change.”

“Still as prickly as ever,” Jet retorted. “Nice to know the zombies haven’t gotten you yet.”

“Wish I could say the same about you.”

_ Well _ , Sokka blinked.  _ This is awkward _ . 

“Not going to introduce your new friend?” The challenging stare in his eyes did not go unnoticed.

“Nope,” Zuko said.

Sokka was honestly more taken aback by the fact that Zuko  _ didn’t _ deny that they were friends.

“That’s cold,” Jet said.

“Cold is what you deserve,” Zuko bit back.

“Yet you’re still as fiery as ever,” Jet hummed, leaning closer. “Is that temper doing you good these days?”

Zuko could feel his breath on his neck now, heavy and uneasy. If there was one thing Jet was good with, it was words. He weaved his words into tempting, neat little parcels called sentences, building up his walls so high behind a friendly face and a silver tongue that only served to beguile. There was once a time that Zuko truly believed that Jet was starting to let him in. He had been foolish to think that was even a possibility. 

“Fuck off, Jet.”

“Look around you,” Jet cautioned. “We’re in  _ my _ territory now.”

Zuko could feel the heat of the rest watching them from the shadows, creeping around behind the cooling towers and trailing after them as they walked through the compound. Jet had insisted they come with him on his daily rounds, checking the perimeter fence for any damage that could topple the integrity of the entire plant. Sokka knew they weren’t given a choice anyway. Right from the start, Jet had made it very clear that he was in charge around here. 

Zuko sighed. This power play bullshit was getting old. Of course Jet was still an insufferable bastard, even in the middle of the fucking zombie apocalypse. What on earth had he been expecting?

He looked towards Sokka, who met his eyes. They were at a big disadvantage here—outnumbered, far away from base, with the ticking clock nipping at their heels. This power plant was their best bet at seeking sanctuary when the sun set. One wrong word, one wrong move, and they could end up somewhere much worse than at the hands of Jet and his gang.

“This is Sokka,” Zuko grunted, giving in. “We met in the city.”

Jet grinned, infuriatingly smug.

“Hello,” Sokka offered.

“In the city, huh?” Jet looked him over. “Never seen you around these parts.”

“Yeah, I stayed in the city center,” Sokka said, quite unsure how much he could reveal here.

“Hm.” Jet nodded. “Congrats on making it this far without getting zombified.”

“Thanks?”

“Well, I assume you two want to stick around for dinner or something,” Jet said, spinning on his heel. “Stay as long as you like. Smellerbee’s cooking today.”

With that, he left.

There were some lingering stares from the rest of the gang, but they eased up eventually, slinking away into the shadows. They left the two standing alone in the middle of the power plant, watching the sun slip below the horizon, along with the last slivers of their hope. They had no choice but to stay now. 

“Just like that?” Sokka whispered suspiciously.

“Go with it,” Zuko said, eyes dark. “Jet may be an asshole, but he’s no liar.”

Sokka nodded. He may not trust this Jet guy in any way or form, but he did trust Zuko.

“What do we do now?”

“We stay for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to weave in anarchist tendencies for the Freedom Fighters in this universe, but I figured that it would be too complicated to navigate this socio-political take especially in a post-apocalyptic world, and it would require me to change certain aspects of Jet's background and his history with Zuko that I would like to preserve, so I ended up scrapping the idea.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	9. The Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve never started a campfire.”  
> “What?” Zuko balked. “You just made a blowtorch out of a can of body spray, and you’re telling me you’ve never started a campfire?”  
> “Do I look like the kind of guy that goes camping?”   
> Zuko thought for a second.  
> “Fair point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> their motivations shine through in this chapter yes

Sokka had never seen Zuko this restless.

They were a little distance outside the power plant, nestled deep in a pocket of forest and surrounded by a circle of bushes. Here, the trees loomed high and the moon hung in the sky, casting crooked shadows across their faces and dark outlines of branches dancing across the ground. As crazy as it was to be out and about at night in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, it was probably wiser not to start a campfire back in the middle of a power plant. 

Jet had been silent this whole time, but not hostile. He had his back to the both of them, shovelling some dry leaves and grass into the center of the earth. The earth was bare, like it had been cleared a long time ago. How often did they come here?

“Tinder first.”

“We know how to start a fire,” Zuko cut in. 

_ We do _ ? Sokka knew how to start a fire  _ in theory _ . He could tell you the constituents of what you need to start a basic flame, and how the uncombusted fuel particles in a low-oxygen fire makes the flame burn yellow, and how heating wood releases volatile vapors that can rapidly combust with oxygen in the air. But starting a campfire in uncontrolled conditions in the woods, where they would probably get eaten by zombies in the next five minutes? He felt vastly out of place here.

“Just trying to make you guys feel more included,” Jet said. “But if you want to just sit there and watch us, suit yourself.”

Zuko squinted. This must be a trap. The Freedom Fighters had never been kind to freeloaders. Everybody was given a job when they joined—regardless of who they were or who they are. Each and every single member of the group was expected to carry out their delegated tasks, a way of contributing and giving back to the group. They were loyal to their cause, but also loyal to each other. The system of delegation meant that everybody got to feel like they were playing their part in the group, a way of creating a sense of importance and identity. It was clever, but Zuko had seen how ruthless it could be too.

“What can we do?” 

Jet motioned to the logpile without skipping a beat, as if he had expected Zuko’s question.

“C’mon.” Zuko led Sokka over to the wood piled up at the side.

“ _ Zuko _ .”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never started a campfire.”

“What?” Zuko balked. “You just made a blowtorch out of a can of body spray, and you’re telling me you’ve never started a  _ campfire _ ?”

“Do I look like the kind of guy that goes camping?” 

Zuko thought for a second.

“Fair point.”

He motioned for Sokka to move to the other end of the logs.

“We’ll carry it together then.”

Sokka nodded.

Together, they hauled the wood over to where Jet sat, building a teepee with the dry leaves and twigs that Longshot handed him. Pipsqueak and The Duke swung into the clearing, carrying with them the dry leaves and grass for the tinder. Jet continued to add more kindling, making space for Zuko and Sokka to join them in assembling a larger teepee with the fuel logs.

“Well, this feels familiar,” Jet remarked, hands working deftly.

“Don’t get used to it,” Zuko grumbled. His arm was still sore from where Pipsqueak’s bat had hit him. In fact, everything was kind of sore from the fight. He wouldn’t have the luxury of time or the ease of mind to do anything about it though. 

Together, everyone laid a workable base for the campfire.

It was time to light it.

“Do you want to start the fire?” Jet asked.

It took Sokka a moment to realize that he was talking to him.

“Me?”

“Who else?”

“I thought you’d want to do it yourself.”

“New members get to light our fires usually,” Jet said. “While you may not be a new member, we’ve decided to pass the job to you anyway. Think of it like a peace sign, an olive branch? Whatever they’re calling a truce these days. We’re not enemies here.”

Sokka took a cursory glance at Zuko.

He was pursing his lips, like he was trying to refrain from saying something.

“Okay.”

Jet handed him a match.

Sokka struck it.

“Place it under the tinder, like this.”

Jet grabbed Sokka’s hand, guiding it under the teepee structures.

Zuko’s eyes narrowed.

“Woah.” Sokka was entranced as the flames started to build higher. He just started a campfire.  _ He started a campfire _ . For the first time. It was magical.

“Yeah, it doesn’t get old.” Jet grinned.

Zuko couldn’t help but marvel at the fiery scene too. The glow cast by the flames twisted and twirled around them, reaching up to the trees and flickering among the leaves as they added more wood to the fire. It was like the fire had a heartbeat, the glowing embers pulsing in time to the flicker of the flames. When was the last time he saw fire this big and this bright? The warmth that radiated off it reached deep into his bones, banishing all his worries. 

Well, almost all.

“Are you sure no zombies will see this?”

“We’re too deep into the woods,” Jet said. “Plus, we have traps all around these woods. They’d have to be some truly resilient bastards to get past those. I’ll show you some of them in the morning.”

“And the plant?”

“We usually turn on the electric fence. You caught our patrol break right in time. You guys are lucky not to be roasted to a crisp right now.”

Zuko had to be satisfied with his answer for now. He looked towards Sokka.

Sokka seemed to be a little more at ease now. He had been trying to convince himself that there was nothing going to jump out from between the crooked woods that loomed behind them. There was a certain comfort to be found being out in the wilderness where everything was free and open, but there was none to be found for Sokka here. 

“Here comes the food.”

Smellerbee hoisted the bag off her shoulder, setting them down by the fire. This was a lot of food for just one dinner. Zuko briefly wondered if it was just a show put on for them, an illusion of luxury, but knowing the indulgent lifestyle that Jet encouraged his Freedom Fighters to lead, it was probably a regular occurrence.

“Bacon?” Zuko picked up a pack of the good stuff. “Where’d you get this stuff?”

“We have a freezer full of it,” Smellerbee said. 

“Perks of having a base near a meat warehouse,” Jet added.

Zuko set it down, mildly impressed and irked at the same time.

The eggs were transported by the carton, packed with filler material and put in a box to keep them from breaking. Where were they getting this stuff? Unless the Freedom Fighters had somehow taken over a poultry farm as well, Zuko was going to have some serious questions here.

“For protein,” Jet explained. “We’re all growing here.”

“I didn’t ask,” Zuko said.

“But you were wondering.”

Zuko hated how well Jet could read him.

In the end, he couldn’t find a complaint because the food was  _ good. _ Good didn’t even begin to describe it, it was goddamn  _ delicious _ . They had brought out a skillet and cracked the eggs into it, along with a shit ton of butter and just the ideal pinch of salt. Zuko was way too hungry to even be suspicious about where all this food was coming from. The instant he smelled the sizzling of bacon and the delicious fat melting into the skillet, all the questions melted away from his mind. He was thinking purely with his stomach now. Food. Bacon. Eggs.

“This is good,” Sokka said aloud, as if assuring himself this wasn’t a dream. He was sitting right next to Zuko, clutching his bowl of soup and staring at it with a reverence.

“Yeah, it is,” Zuko agreed begrudgingly. 

They were seated in a circle around the fire. Longshot had taken up a perch slightly further from the fire, and Smellerbee had gone to join him. Pipsqueak was ladling soup into metal mixing bowls—the kind that you beat eggs and mix batter in—passing them around to the next hungry soul who wanted to fill their stomach and their heart with hearty goodness. Jet was digging into a loaf of bread, dipping it into the soup sporadically until it was wet and soggy, exactly how Zuko didn’t like it. He was convinced that Jet was doing it just to annoy him, but there was no trace of smugness in those eyes. 

“So,” Jet began.

Sokka looked at Zuko.

He looked like he was trying not to sigh.

“Yes,” Zuko replied. “So.”

“Zombie apocalypse,” Jet continued.

“Tough situation,” Zuko continued, shovelling more bacon into his mouth.

“I’m not going to pretend to care by asking you how you’ve been doing.” 

Oh, so they were shedding the fake niceties now?

“And I’m not going to pretend to care about your opinion,” Zuko said.

“Good,” Jet said. “Just making sure.”

Smellerbee slapped Zuko on the back.

“It’s good to see you, champ.”

“Good to see you too, Bee.” Zuko may harbour a ton of unresolved grievances towards the Jet and the Freedom Fighters, but he had surprised himself when he started growing fond of Smellerbee. She made for a swell duelling partner, and was the one who got the rest of the group to warm up to Zuko, and vice versa. She possessed an unexpected wisdom that Zuko had found himself returning to time and time again. Not to mention she was the only one who made an effort to understand his decision to leave.

She looked a little older too, her face young and red but wrought with the stresses that came with choosing a life of running and fighting. Her eyes were still as big and beady as ever, piercing through him with the same flat but scrutinizing gaze. Her hair looked like it had been chopped off at the ends with something blunt and jagged, sandy and rough. Knowing Smellerbee, she had probably refused to let anyone do it for her. Zuko thought she had never looked more like herself.

Smellerbee gave him a salute, and returned to Longshot’s side. Longshot was still staring at Zuko and Sokka with an indecipherable look. Zuko gave him a small wave, and he nodded. Unlike Jet and Smellerbee, Longshot had never been one for words. He much preferred to talk with his eyes, which Zuko had both a lot of respect and confusion for. He looked much the same as four years ago, lips pressed into a face that betrayed no expression except for his eyes. His face was covered in shadows from his reed hat, but his eyes glinted in the shade. He could convey what others couldn’t using his eyes alone. Even then, it was often hard to tell what he was thinking. 

“Why a power plant?” 

“It was convenient,” Jet said. “I was working here.”

“You? Working here?” Zuko said. “The sun must be rising from the west.”

Electricity was basically a public good, which meant that it was under government control—well, when the government was still intact. If there was anything Zuko could be sure of, it was that Jet didn’t exactly get along with the authorities in these parts. If he was working at the power plant, there must be some other hidden motive or dastardly reason at play here. What was Jet playing at?

“I needed the money,” Jet retorted. “The pay didn’t get better than this. I can suppress my personal beliefs for a while just to get by. Is that really so unbelievable?”

Not really, it wasn’t. It made perfect sense. Jobs tended to be in short supply around here, especially for someone who dropped out of school and defected to a lifestyle of obsession with political freedom and revolution. Zuko didn’t find it hard to imagine Jet walking in right off the streets and talking his way into a job. All things considered, Jet was dedicated and capable. He had always been direct with taking action and getting what he wanted. Jet always knew who to talk to in order to get what he wanted.

“So, it’s just you guys around here?” Sokka asked.

“Yeah,” Jet said. “Just us.”

“What happened to the rest?” Zuko asked. 

The circle fell silent.

Jet stared him right in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said. And he meant it. He may not have agreed with their methods and principles, but the group’s fallen fighters weren’t any less human than he was when they were alive. They were just like all of the others that had been lost to the wave. They had lost too many people already. Death didn’t discriminate.

“We do what we can,” Smellerbee said. “And we move on.”

The rest of the group nodded in agreement.

“We’ve all lost someone,” Jet said.

Zuko looked over at Sokka. 

He looked deep in thought again.

“You look like you have a lot on your mind,” Jet said to him.

“Yeah, just thinking,” Sokka replied.

“About?”

Sokka frowned for a moment. But he spoke anyway.

“I was thinking about home.”

“Home,” Jet repeated. “You’re not from around these parts, are you?”

“No,” Sokka answered carefully. “I’m not.”

“Must be hard,” Jet said. “I couldn’t understand what you’re feeling, and I’m not going to offer you sympathy because I don’t do that, but I can tell you that we’ll get back at them one day.”

“Get back at who?” Sokka looked confused.

“The zombies,” Jet said, his eyes blazing with hatred. 

“Wait.” Sokka raised his hand. “The  _ zombies _ ?”

“Don’t you get it? They took everything. They took our home, they took lives, they took the people we love. I don’t know about you, but I’m pissed off,” Jet burst out. “Every day they stay on this earth is another day we cannot rest. That’s what we’re still here for. To fight against the hordes and restore freedom and peace to this land.”

“You think you can restore the world?” Zuko stood. “You think everything will just go back to normal and the world will be okay again?”

“No, I don’t think it will.” Jet turned to face him. “I  _ believe _ it will. Somebody has to.”

“How? By killing every single zombie on the face of the fucking planet?”

“I’m not alone, but even if I have to do it myself, then so be it.”

Zuko grumbled in frustration. There was the stubborn anger he hadn’t missed.

“Nothing’s ever going back to normal.”

“You say that, but I don’t see you trying,” Jet huffed.

“I’m trying!” Zuko bit back. “I’m  _ trying _ to stay alive.”

“Well, you always were the selfish one.”

Something snapped inside Zuko’s head.

“Me? You’re calling  _ me _ selfish?” Zuko’s eyes widened, the familiar thunder pounding through his veins. “You were the one who said all that shit that made me believe. You were the one who said we could make things work. You were the one who wanted to try. And I tried for you, I really did. I tried to change, I tried to learn your stupid fighting tricks, I tried to be there for you.”

He could see the focus in Jet’s eyes falter for the splittest of seconds, and it spurred him on.

“ _ You _ were the one who stopped trying for me,” Zuko spat. 

“Is that why you left?” Jet stood his ground. “Is that why you turned tail and ran like a coward?”

“No,” Zuko said. “ _ No _ . I would have kept trying for you, I would have kept trying as long as you wanted me to. But I saw what you wanted. You would’ve never been satisfied with what I could give you. You never had time for me when you were always off fighting. You always wanted  _ more _ .”

Jet looked down at the ground. He couldn’t deny it.

“Tell me, Jet.” Zuko’s fists were clenched tight at his side, like he was trying to get a hold of his anger, trying to force down the pain and swallow the memories until they were crushed to dust inside his chest and he could forget it ever happened. “ _ Was I ever enough _ ?”

“You were,” Jet said. 

“ _ Were _ ,” Zuko echoed. “I know that now.”

The circle had fallen silent, nobody daring to speak. 

“I have to do this, Zuko. I have to fight, or die trying.”

“Do you really think fighting will solve all your problems?”

“You don’t  _ get it _ ,” Jet said, his shoulders seizing. “You never understood. You didn’t have to fight like the rest of us did. You didn’t have to crawl your way to a place where you could finally be who you wanted to be. You were just a spoiled brat from another rich family uptown, trying to play hero and coming to us for what? Pity? Distraction? Fun?  _ Fighting _ is all I’ve ever known, and you don’t get to say the fucking same.”

Zuko knew it was a goddamn mistake telling Jet about his past. 

“ _ Fuck you _ , Jet.” he was livid, dangerously close to losing his composure entirely. “You don’t know a thing about me, either. You think I  _ knew _ how to be who I wanted to be? You think I  _ chose _ to be raised in a family that never gave a shit about me? You think I  _ wanted _ to be a part of your games and fight for your cause? I never got to do anything I wanted, all because I wanted to do what you wanted.  _ You’re _ the selfish bastard, and I won’t let you determine what I want any longer.”

Jet opened his mouth to speak, his eyes flaring up again.

Zuko stood with his head held high, daring him to challenge his words. Daring him to prove him wrong. Daring him to say anything that would mean that it wasn’t all true and that Zuko had been wrong about him all along. Something. Anything.

“You—”

A pair of hands shoved them apart.

“Fucking hell, you guys,” Sokka burst out. “Why are you fighting each other?”

“Have you heard him?” Jet fumed. “He’s pushing all the blame on me.”

“I’m just trying to tell you what I never got the chance to!” Zuko yelled. “See? You don’t  _ listen _ .”

“I’m not the unreasonable one around here,” Jet retorted.” You don’t get to leave and then just barge back into my life and tell me I’m—

“Stop.  _ Stop _ . Just fucking  **STOP** .”

Zuko and Jet both whirled around to look at Sokka.

There was a darkness in his eyes that shook Zuko to the bones. It was the strangest and most chilling feeling that sent pinpricks of shock firing in his ears, to hear Sokka’s usually unrestrained and open voice morph into something so harsh and so loud, yet so shaky and so subdued. It made Zuko’s stomach drop, the way Sokka looked like he was trying very hard not to explode.

“The world is fucking ending and you guys want to argue about the past?” Sokka bristled. “Be my fucking guest. You want to change the world? Sure. You want everything to go back to normal? Keep believing what you want to believe. But don’t even for a moment think that some of us get to be as angry as you are. Some of us don’t have the privilege of fighting for a cause greater than themselves. Some of us are fucking tired of being so angry all the time.”

Zuko would feel a twinge of sordid joy at watching Jet look like he had lost all ability to speak were it not for the fact that he felt the exact same. 

“Sometimes, staying alive is all we can do,” Sokka continued, his voice considerably less shaky now. “None of us should get to decide why anyone else is still here.”

It was a long moment of silence before anyone spoke.

“He’s right.”

They all turned to look at Smellerbee, who hadn’t said a single word since it all began.

“We’re all survivors here,” she said.

Jet looked down, breaths coming in quick and short spurts as he tried to calm down.

“I’m done feeling angry,” Sokka said. “I’m not looking for revenge. Nobody chooses to become a zombie. I don’t think I’ll ever agree with your cause, but I won’t stop you from trying, Jet.”

All eyes turned to Jet in horrifying anticipation.

“You’re right.”

Zuko blinked.  _ What the fuck is happening _ ? 

“We’re all alive, even if it’s not for the same reasons,” Jet continued. “But we’re still alive, and that’s what matters.”

Jet never admitted his mistakes. 

Zuko was floored. 

Sokka nodded. His eyes were back to the same shade of blue, darker in the night, but calm and collected and serene like before. Zuko couldn’t help but stare into its deep, inky depths, wondering what other surprises it could hold. He had known all along that he didn’t know Sokka that well, but he was only beginning to  _ feel _ it now. Maybe he didn’t know Sokka at all.

“I’m sorry,” Jet said. “For assuming.”

Too many miracles were happening in the span of a night. Jet, owning up to his shortcomings,  _ and _ apologizing for them? Was Zuko dead? Was he a zombie? Was Jet a zombie? Was this some ploy by Jet to get Sokka to trust him? It was all spinning in his head.

“Don’t apologize,” Sokka said. “At least you know now.”

Jet nodded. He looked as disoriented as anyone had ever seen him look.

Zuko was still standing there like an idiot.

“You two are welcome to stay as long as you like,” Jet said. “No strings attached.”

He walked away, presumably to clear his head.

The rest of the group were finally daring to murmur among themselves now. They were looking at Sokka a little different now—with a little respect, and admiration even. Anyone who dared stand up to Jet was both a fool and a hero. 

“I’ll go after him,” Smellerbee said, nodding in Jet’s direction. “To make sure he doesn’t get eaten by a zombie or take his anger out on a poor tree or something.”

“Thank you.”

“Now go,” she said, looking at Sokka. 

Nodding, Zuko headed back to his side.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Sokka said. “Yeah, I am now.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Like I said, I’m not looking for an apology.” Sokka looked up at him.

“I want to apologize anyway,” Zuko said. “I lost it back there.”

“It’s okay to be angry about your past,” Sokka said. “I am too, even if I can’t be.”

Zuko looked down, thinking about his words. He had no idea what Sokka was talking about, but he had a feeling that this wasn’t the only chance he would be getting to find out. 

“Are you still hungry?” Zuko offered up his bowl of soup.

“Honestly, yes,” Sokka said, grinning as he took the bowl. “I’m always hungry.”

“I figured,” Zuko chuckled.

“Not eating?”

“Not hungry.”

“Yeah? Wait till you go back to the canned beans.”

“Fuck,” Zuko said. “You’re right.”

He hurriedly ladled himself more soup, pulling a laugh out of Sokka.

There was nothing special about his laugh, but it was so real and true and loud that Zuko found himself caught in its wave—an unhurried undulation of highs and lows and breathy snorts. He found himself staring at Sokka, his face shrouded in shadow and light from the fire, all the anger on his face replaced with an amusement that traveled the planes of his face and shone in his eyes, dancing across his firm cheeks and crossing the lines running along his nose. How did he do it? How did he still laugh like the world wasn’t ending? How did he still laugh like everything would be okay again?

Zuko didn’t know many things about Sokka, but one thing was for sure.

_ He wanted to get to know Sokka.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the scene where everything escalates and gets emotional and dredges up the past, present, and future all at once was unplanned. I remember hitting a block with this chapter because although I knew the direction I wanted it to go in, I had no idea how to bring it out and then I got a bolt of inspiration to go big with it and I did.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	10. The Mechanist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mechanist had a thin but sturdy face, his hair sticking up in two tufts on the side of his head and a thick beard that reached down to his neck. His wiry eyebrows did nothing to conceal his wide and bright eyes, sitting atop a set of cheekbones that would have been considered gaunt if they were slightly more pronounced. He had thin lips and a smile that looked awfully honest, and he wore the weariness in his face like a badge of honor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember teo and his father from that one air temple episode with the war balloon and flying kids? yep.

The city had been ravaged by the fires and the hordes. It was even more imminent in the downtown areas, where the population density had been higher, and the buildings were shorter and squeezed together in crowded clusters—bowing inwards in shame like they had nothing left to give. Skeletons of burnt concrete and twisted metal loomed over the group as they travelled through the streets, eerily quiet save for the scuttling of cockroaches and the cry of a blackbird in the distance. Various collapsible stall fronts folded in on each other in a morbid show of abandonment, and pushcarts were overturned, lying defeated against fallen street lamps. The beautiful graffiti works splashed across the walls were dull and lifeless now, the sweeping letters and caricatures of world leaders rubbed off under the merciless sun and the relentless heat.

“This is it,” Jet whispered, as if even he was afraid to disrupt the morbid calm of the ruins.

This was once the town square, where people poured out of small houses and milled about in the crowded streets. The people here weren’t as affluent as those who lived in the upper parts of town, but they possessed something that Zuko wasn’t familiar with: warmth. It was evident in the smiles on their faces and the spring in their steps, and it was one of the first instances where he had come to his own conclusion that maybe money wasn’t the entire answer to happiness, after all.

He would sneak out and come here to peruse the curious wares that they didn’t offer in the upscale areas where the malls were large and polished and entirely too sterile for his taste. He had always harbored a strange fondness for the colorful plastic ducks they sold in the toy stalls—with their waddling little feet powered by a turning key mechanism, the flimsy tail and wings, and the beady eyes painted on the hard plastic. He would always gaze upon them with a longing. The man selling them—a rather rotund one with a portly figure and the most curious moustache Zuko had ever seen—had offered to teach him how to make one for himself. Zuko had turned down the offer out of fear, and the man had looked at him with the most sympathetic gaze any adult had ever turned upon him. He had returned to the stall time and time again, but he never dared to buy any ducks, for fear of ridicule from his sister or  _ worse _ , disapproval from his father.

Now, he would never get to buy one again.

He stood in the middle of the road. There was no life in the once-beating heart of the city anymore—none of the vitality that once pulsed through the streets and the noise that heralded the humanity of the town. He strained his ears, but all that greeted him was the damning silence. The dust-laden wind left him shivering in the ghosts of his own memories of the place, blowing through the houses and yawning over shuttered windows of broken glass and ripped curtains. 

His foot slammed into something hard.

The clattering startled a nearby pigeon, its wings flapping past his head as it took off into the sun-bleached sky. It was a metal bowl. He picked it up, inspecting the dent with a blank stare. It was the kind that was popular amongst street beggars who were looking for an extra dime or two, the kind that they held out with grovelling hands to passers-by, a resigned expression of watered-down desperation fixed onto their faces. There was no money inside, to nobody’s surprise. 

He set it down gently against the sidewalk.

Sokka watched him, his lips pressed into a thin line as he studied his surroundings—the collapsed concrete slabs crusted over with soot, the cracks and faults that littered the pavement, the mold encasing the grimy gray of a broken drain cover. He was there to see the city fall into ruins, but you never quite got used to this kind of thing. No human was ever quite ready for the end of the world. 

“What are we doing here?” Zuko asked, his eyes hazed over with confusion and sadness. If this was just some play to get him to join their cause, he wanted no part of it. His stomach turned with a slight sickness at the mere possibility. 

“We’re here to help,” Jet said. He sounded a lot calmer than he had been the night before. There was no sadness in his eyes, but the downward furl of his lips told Zuko he was just as solemn too. Jet wasn’t quite the emotionless monster that Zuko desperately wanted to believe at times. He had not forgotten their fight the night before, but he had not forgotten their past either.

“Help?”

“We help the survivors,” Jet explained. “They’re scattered around these areas.”

“There are other survivors?” Sokka looked up. “In the city?”

“Yeah,” Jet said. “We were patrolling the area, and we found a few.”

“What do you mean help them?” Zuko asked.

“We chased all the zombies out of the area and set up traps around,” Jet said. “For any survivors who need shelter in the city.”

Zuko hated how shocked he looked.

“We trade supplies with them. Food and first-aid for the electricity.”

Well, that explained where their food came from.

“Wait, the electricity reaches this place?” Sokka asked.

“It reaches all the main city areas,” Smellerbee contributed. “We keep it on in the ones with the highest concentration of survivors.”

“And since we’re all about being honest here,” Jet sighed. “We provide weapons too. A means of defence against the zombies. I won’t hide the fact that we use violence around here. Our methods may not be so palatable for those with weak stomachs.”

He stared at Zuko.

Zuko glared back with a vengeance. It was inevitable that violence came hand in hand with survival when facing off with the zombies. Staying alive for him was gnarly, angry, filled with thrashing and running and struggling and holding on to whatever was left and what he knew. Even when the world was ending, Zuko was still unable to run from that kind of life. Even he had to learn that he wasn’t weak for trying to shake it. 

“That’s actually quite charitable,” Sokka remarked.

Zuko squinted. It  _ was _ quite charitable. What was going on here?

“What do you get in return?” Zuko asked.

“Supplies,” Jet said. “We trade them for the electricity.”

It made sense, but Zuko wasn’t buying it so easily yet.

“So you’re basically running some sort of electricity monopoly here?”

“Never change, Zuko.” Jet shook his head at Zuko’s skepticism. “Never change.”

“Can you show us?” Sokka asked, voice quiet but restrained.

Jet nodded for them to follow.

“This way.”

The ceiling was dripping with mildew, a distantly rank stench of mud and mold permeating the very bones of the building. It was one of the few that had kept its foundation intact, one of the few that hadn’t collapsed in on itself yet. The ground was a nasty mix of rocks and wet puddles and crumbley, dusty bits. Zuko kept staring at the floor, expecting to shatter something sharp with his boots, but all the jagged shards and metal pieces must have been cleared out already.

The place was dirty, but not dangerous. 

“Through here.”

A little alcove had been formed where a pile of rubble had accumulated against the far wall, shielding the insides from the deadliest of the sun’s rays. It was no pleasant fate to be baked alive under concrete. They had to duck under a series of tin roof panels—too neatly-placed to be just an aftermath of the collapse—in order to reach the clearing. The sure steps of the Freedom Fighters told Zuko and Sokka that this was a trip they were familiar with, a path they had taken before. It made them feel just a little better about following the group into the darkness.

Zuko was still uncomfortable with the idea of following Jet blindly. Sokka didn’t know what they were walking into either. He only had Jet’s words to go off of, and he couldn’t be blamed if that didn’t sit right with him. Still, he pressed on, keeping his doubts to himself. The growing sounds of metal clattering and a rustling of fabric told them that they were not alone here. Once Zuko’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out a silhouette moving about against the warm glow of a lamp. The place was more well-ventilated than he had expected, complete with standing electric fans and various pieces of furniture. The ceiling was much higher than he was used to, probably because the floor above them had long collapsed. The only thing left of it was a rusty staircase leading up to the remnants of the higher levels that Zuko wouldn’t trust with his last step.

“Here’s one of the camps,” Jet said.

An older man was approaching them From the looks of how he exchanged loose and amicable greetings with Jet, they were on friendly terms.

“This is The Mechanist,” he introduced. 

_ The Mechanist _ ? Sokka tilted his head.

“New members?” 

The Mechanist had a thin but sturdy face, his hair sticking up in two tufts on the side of his head and a thick beard that reached down to his neck. His wiry eyebrows did nothing to conceal his wide and bright eyes, sitting atop a set of cheekbones that would have been considered gaunt if they were slightly more pronounced. He had thin lips and a smile that looked awfully honest, and he wore the weariness in his face like a badge of honor.

“We’re not a part of them,” Zuko said, a little too brusquely.

“Ah, are we really a part of anything?” The Mechanist wondered aloud, waving his hand about.

Zuko traded a look with Sokka.  _ Was this man quite mad _ ?

“We’re all a part of the universe, so does it really matter who you call friend or foe as long as we’re all living on this earth?”

Zuko gave him a confused look.

“Just roll with it,” Jet lowered his voice. “The Mechanist may be eccentric at times, but he’s a genius. He makes our weapons and tech.”

Zuko remembered the fight from the power plant. The Freedom Fighters did seem to have an advantage when it came to weapons and gaining height. Was that with the help of tech? Maybe some kind of pulley system? A new kind of blade? What  _ was _ the Mechanist capable of? 

Zuko nodded and turned back to the old man.

“No...I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Right!” The Mechanist said in glee. 

“Do you have  _ metal fingers _ ?” Sokka blurted out.

“Sokka!” Zuko hissed. “You can’t just ask people if they have metal fingers!”

“Yes,” the Mechanist turned to Sokka with a thoughtful twinkle in his eye. “As a matter of fact, I do. I made them myself.”

“Woah,” Sokka said, moving closer. “Can I see them?”

“Of course.”

The Mechanist held out his hand, wriggling his fingers for good measure. They were prosthetics, attached seamlessly to his palm, a complex configuration of metal joints and silicone phalanxes so that he could close and open them. It was like watching something straight out of a futuristic sci-fi movie, and something that Sokka found himself studying. He knew it was rude to ask questions like that, but his curiosity had won out. He was only glad the old man didn’t stare at him with reproach. 

“Bone-anchored implants,” he observed. Sokka would hardly call himself an expert in the mechanics of metal prosthetics, but there was a time where he went on a tangent and did some research on his own because he found himself getting freaked out by the idea of amputation or losing a limb. Understanding how things work always made him feel less fearful of them. He ended up becoming so well-read in the subject that he no longer feared the whole concept. “Can you feel it better like that?”

The Mechanist perked up, like a child who had just discovered a new toy.

“Yes, it restores some sensation to my fingers,” he explained. “I cut them off when I was inventing a failsafe for my knife sharpener for our dearest Jet here. It was very bloody, and I had to operate on myself with no anesthesia. Nasty bit of work, but a damn good one if I do say so myself.”

Zuko scrunched up his face.

Sokka nodded, impressed.

“Either way, as long as I’m able to tinker about with my inventions, I should say these metal ones fare just as well as the original! That’s all an old man like me can ask for these days, a perfectly functional set of hands and a workspace to myself. Gets the old noggin going, and keeps me on my feet.”

The Mechanist spoke as if he didn’t know that the world was ending outside. He spoke with a grandeur that Zuko didn’t know what to make of. Zuko wondered what it was like to retain such a child-like wonder at the man’s age. He also wondered whether to call it miraculous or foolish. The Mechanist’s wonder certainly did not belong in the apocalypse, but it sounded like he was right where he wanted to be. 

“I have all the tools you need here,” Jet spoke up, handing the man a heavy package.

“Brilliant!” The Mechanist exclaimed. “I’ll go put these in the back. Sit, sit, lunch will be ready soon. I’m stewing vegetable soup. Those cabbage heads you brought me were delightful, Beebee.”

Zuko froze, turning to Smellerbee, whose face looked like she had just fallen off a cliff.

“ _ Beebee _ ?”

“If you say one more word, I  _ will _ punch you,” Smellerbee said.

Zuko couldn’t help the snort that escaped his mouth. Smellerbee wasn’t the type for nicknames. It had taken him a good two years to finally unlearn the flinching that came with using the nickname Bee. Smellerbee had a mean punch, and he had the pleasure of learning that on the first day they met. 

They sat around the electric lamp. Nobody said anything yet, the lot of them basking in the cooling waves supplied by the circle of fans behind them. It was an urgent reprieve from the heat of the sun outside. They had travelled here a long distance from the plant on bicycles, cooking under the sun and under their clothes. Everybody was too tired to be wary of each other.

Smellerbee and the Mechanist wheeled out a pot with an electric cooker.

“Take as much soup as you like,” The Mechanist said.

“Is it just you around?” Zuko asked.

“Mm,” the man nodded. “Everyone I knew is gone.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“We’ve all lost someone, I’m sure,” the Mechanist said. “I’m not alone in the matter, and that brings me some comfort.”

Zuko drank some soup. It was warm and flavorful, but he found the soup a bit too light.

“What’s it like living here alone?”

Usually, he would be more careful about asking personal questions, but he had a feeling that the Mechanist did not mind. In fact, he seemed to enjoy answering them.

“It’s curious,” the Mechanist decided. “I can’t see the outside world all the time, but I have time to work on my inventions now. I never had the time before…”

He paused, ruminating on a memory.

“I never had the time before my son died.”

They lapsed into the kind of silence you found when someone confided a great loss in you.

“His name was Teo,” Jet spoke up, his voice quieter than Zuko had ever heard him. “He was a part of us.”

“He was not born a fighter, my boy. But he had the spirit,” the Mechanist recalled. There was a telling shine of fondness in his eyes. “He needed a wheelchair to get everywhere, and he was mighty good about it. I made him a new one for his birthday every year, but one day he told me he didn’t need to be coddled all the time. You know kids at your age, they’re always wanting to get away from their parents and see the world.”

Zuko looked down. He could agree with that statement. More than anyone could ever know.

“He came to us,” Jet continued. “Wanted to find a place of his own, wanted to fight for freedom too. It was unconventional, but I let him in.”

There was something else in his tone that had Zuko entirely unconvinced that sympathy or compassion was the reason Jet let Teo join the Freedom Fighters.

“He lost his life fighting.” Jet looked like he would much rather not talk about this Teo, but sounded like he had a lot to say anyway. “Went down a warrior.”

“There’s not a day I don’t miss my son,” the Mechanist said, sounding like he was lost in his thoughts. “I would wish he was here, but I wouldn’t want him to suffer any more than he already has.”

“He sounded very brave,” Zuko offered, his words carefully chosen. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t be,” the Mechanist said. “I’m not.”

Zuko looked at him with a question in his eyes.

“Being sorry doesn’t keep me alive,” the Mechanist continued. “It’s the love that does.”

“Who do you love?” The question flew out of Zuko’s mouth before he could even stop himself from being so curious about something that the Mechanist may not take kindly to. 

“It doesn’t have to be a  _ who _ .” The Mechanist turned to him, chuckling like he had just watched someone trip and fall in a comedic manner down the stairs. 

“What does that mean?”  _ Dammit _ , now the old man’s got him asking more questions.

“A love reserved only for people is a fool’s way to live,” the Mechanist went on. “You have to have love to feel like you’re alive. I have a love for the world, I have a love for invention. It’s what keeps me alive. Even if everybody I’ve ever known and loved is no longer around, it doesn’t mean I have to give up all my love.”

“A love...” Sokka wondered.

The Mechanist swivelled towards him, smiling like he had discovered something amusing.

“What’s yours, boy?”

Zuko turned to Sokka too. He wanted to know what Sokka’s answer was.

“I have a love for many things,” Sokka began. He sounded wary, but certain. “I don’t know if I know what love truly is, but I guess I’m still alive to find out. You could call it a love for learning. I like asking questions, and finding answers to those questions. It keeps me going.”

“There you go.” The Mechanist smiled proudly. “The pursuit of knowledge is a lovely one.”

Zuko didn’t say that he thought Sokka’s answer was very well-spoken.

The Mechanist nodded to Jet, who looked vastly unprepared.

“What do you love?”

“I love—” Jet opened his mouth to speak. “I love fighting.”

He offered no further explanation.

Zuko squinted. That pause. There was a  _ pause _ . It was a pause of hesitation, a knowing pause, a pause that indicated that there  _ was _ something else Jet was going to say, but refrained from doing so at the last moment. Jet was rarely unsure of himself, and it would be a cold day in hell before he would let himself slip up with his words. There was something there, but Zuko did not know what it was. He did not know if he wanted to find out either.

“Good, good. It’s good that you do. Not everybody could claim the same,” the Mechanist considered. “Beebee?”

Smellerbee fired Zuko a look for snorting again.

“I love the Freedom Fighters,” she said, no hesitation there. Her voice was soft, and small, but firm and strong. She was one of the toughest out of the bunch, but she held no reservation when it came to expressing where loyalties and feelings lied. “They’re like family to me. More so now than ever.”

She paused, drawing in a breath.

“And I love cooking.”

All of them nodded in respect. 

“Longshot?”

Longshot bowed his head, resurfacing with a softness in his eyes. He turned his head towards Smellerbee, whose cheeks crawled with the slightest red. Then, he turned his head towards the rest of the Freedom Fighters. Finally, he looked at his bow and quiver. Zuko had never seen him without them. 

“Pipsqueak?”

The tall boy looked up from the cooker, hands fastened around the ladle protectively as he hovered around it like a fly caught rubbing its hands together in the food.

“I love food,” he blurted out, pulling a few laughs out of them. 

“Nourishment  _ is _ important!” the Mechanist chortled.

“I love playing,” the Duke offered next. “And eating. And fighting. And swimming.”

The Mechanist patted him fondly on the head.

He was so young. Zuko had always known that, but he had been too preoccupied with his own youth all those years ago to notice. Jet had told him that the Duke had never had a home, that he was just a little orphan with no place to go. Through all the madness and the memories, his brain had warped Jet’s intentions into one of selfishness—that he had taken the Duke in just to feed his savior complex. Now that he saw the tiny smile on the boy’s face, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

Finally, the Mechanist turned to Zuko.

“And you?” 

“Me?”

“What do you love?”

The Mechanist gave him an encouraging smile. His eyes shone with a wonder that Zuko had never known, and it made him nervous. Like he was being torn apart from the inside in the kindest way possible, the warmth ripping through his cold heart like a plague. He shuddered to himself, refusing to meet the old man’s stare.

“Love…” He started, as if saying the word out loud would jolt an answer out of his mouth.

Jet was staring at him now. Staring at him with a sharpness in his eyes that Zuko could never lie to. Staring at him with the weight of the past. Staring at him like he was expecting an answer that he knew Zuko could not give.

Sokka simply looked at him with a curious look.

“I...don’t know.” Zuko frowned. Then he said it again, surer. “I don’t know.”

Sokka gave him an indecipherable look.

“I guess I’m still learning.”

“No matter,” the Mechanist said. “You have time.”

His response struck Zuko across the face like a crack of lightning.

“It may be harder to love now,” the Mechanist advised. “But in a time like this, you may find yourself needing love even harder.”

Jet looked away, a flicker of something crossing his eyes that only the darkness could see.

Zuko had come to accept that the Mechanist’s views were worlds away from his own, but he still couldn’t help but think about his words. He supposed they made sense, even if he didn’t understand them personally. He looked at Sokka, wondering if he was having a better time understanding. His eyes were heavy with thought, a hand on his chin, moving up and down his face like he was trying to grasp at the truth. He must be grappling with some truths of his own.

Ever since they’ve met the Freedom Fighters, Sokka had been significantly quieter (and by principle, less annoying) since his Zuko’s first encounter with him. He often looked deep in thought, as if a million thoughts were running through his head at the same time. Zuko wasn’t good at comforting people, or making them feel at home. He wasn’t Smellerbee, and he wasn’t the Mechanist either. All he could do was stay beside Sokka at all times, watching and waiting for him to say something so that he could grace it with a response. He was the one who had brought them into this whole ordeal anyway. He felt like he had to have some kind of responsibility for Sokka’s presence here.

The pot was empty now.

“I’ll get more soup.” The old man stood up.

Words of thanks and appreciation erupted from around the circle.

“It’s nice to have some young faces around the place,” the Mechanist announced to nobody in particular. “Stay as long as you like. I get lonely in the night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Mechanist as a character in this story was entirely unplanned, but I thought it would be interesting to see how someone else would survive besides all of them (since they're all still relatively youthful). It really makes you think when someone of his age retains such a perspective even after the death of his son, juxtaposed against the cynicism of characters like Zuko and Jet and Sokka (although their cynicism is presented in different ways). Also ultimately it provides a reminder of just how young they all are.
> 
> This will extend into the later parts of the story as well so we shall await that.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	11. The Inner Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It led into a corridor, and there were hinges suspended from the ceiling like there was once glass anchored here. The sounds were getting louder and louder. The Mechanist must be right around the corner. Sokka briefly wondered if he would be offended about them barging in unannounced, but he reckoned the old man would welcome some company.  
> They turned the corner.  
> “Jet???”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things escalate here.

Nightfall snuck up on them, blanketing the rest of the city in darkness. 

The Duke was happily curled up in the crook of a snoring Pipsqueak’s arm, looking as peaceful as ever. Smellerbee had lay down to rest in a corner over a straw picnic mat, a bag pulled over her head as a makeshift pillow. Longshot was perched nearby on a ledge, sharpening his arrows with some sort of tool that Sokka had never seen before. It must be one of the inventions the Mechanist had been going on about. He watched them with sharp eyes, angling his face away from the light.

Sokka shivered. It was getting colder by the minute, and the warmth of the lamp was like a soothing balm rubbing against his sore skin. He sat up and pulled the jacket tighter over himself, scooting closer to the lamp. The golden throes of light bounced off the walls of the alcove, casting soft shadows over the walls and making the place look smaller than it had been in the day. It was soothing in a way that Sokka hadn’t known possible. It reminded him of the dim lights back in that hotel room.

He turned over.

Zuko was lying on his right side, face turned away from Sokka. Sokka watched the soft rise and fall of his shoulders and the way his black hair fell over his arms, folded in a way such that he could lie on them. He was curled in on himself, as if releasing any of the tension in his limbs was bound to get him attacked in his sleep. It couldn’t have been too comfortable. Was he asleep? 

Sokka wanted so badly to wrap an arm around him until he could relax into his hold.

Quietly, he got to his feet.

There was a quiet knocking sound coming from the door above the staircase. That must be where the Mechanist did his work. His curiosity was getting the better of him once again. 

“Sokka?”

Zuko’s voice was so quiet and soft and sleepy that Sokka nearly jumped. 

“You’re awake.”

“Bold of you to assume I could fall asleep when you’re moving around like that.”

Sokka grinned sheepishly.

“Where are you going?”

“To check it out,” Sokka whispered, gesturing to the door.

Zuko blinked at him, before hoisting himself to a sitting position. 

“I’m coming with you.”

Sokka’s eyes widened in slight surprise. He had been expecting more questions.

“Okay.”

“Give me a hand?”

Sokka reached out his hand, and Zuko took it. He pulled Zuko to his feet, where he brushed the dust off his pants and zipped up his jacket. Sokka didn’t quite know what to do with his hand after that. He held it out in front of him like an idiot as he watched on, as if moving it would disrupt the warmth that blossomed across his palm where Zuko had gripped it.

“Let’s go.”

Sokka nodded stupidly.

Together, they crossed the dusty and damp ground, their boots squeaking over the rough, cracked surface. Longshot was still watching, his eyes trailing them from the side. His face looked exactly the same as it always did, but Zuko could tell that he was holding back a question. 

Sokka took the first step on the staircase. It protested with an ugly series of moans and creaks, and he immediately withdrew his foot. That’s not very assuring.

“Fancy running up the whole thing?”

“And possibly break a leg?” Zuko snorted. “Yeah, sure.”

“On my count,” Sokka said. He paused. “God, it feels so weird to be the one saying that.”

“Go ahead,” Zuko chuckled. “I’ll let you do the honors this time.”

“One, two, _three_.”

They banged and clanged their way up the rusty metal staircase, suppressing ugly giggles the whole way. Miraculously, they and the staircase were still in one piece by the end of it. It was moments like this where Zuko was truly convinced that Sokka was as much of an idiot as he was. And he wasn’t complaining about it. They walked a little further, pulling up in front of the little brown door. It was once green from the looks of the chipping paint in the far corners. There was a metal pull to get it open, so Sokka assumed it wasn’t locked.

The door creaked open.

It led into a corridor, and there were hinges suspended from the ceiling like there was once glass anchored here. The sounds were getting louder and louder. The Mechanist must be right around the corner. Sokka briefly wondered if he would be offended about them barging in unannounced, but he reckoned the old man would welcome some company.

They turned the corner.

“ _Jet_???”

Jet turned around calmly as if he had been expecting them. He lifted the helmet off his head.

“Hello.”

“What are you doing here??”

“Shh!” Jet gestured over to a sleeping Mechanist, rolled up in a sleeping bag in the far corner. 

“Oh, _sorry_ ,” Zuko said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “How’d you know it was us?”

“I’m pretty sure the world knows it’s you,” Jet deadpanned. “Running up a metal staircase isn’t exactly Zombie Survival 101.”

“Right,” Sokka coughed. “It was my idea.”

Jet gave him a look.

“I thought you were smarter than him.”

“What are you doing here?” Zuko repeated his question, pointedly ignoring his jab.

“Getting some work done.” Jet turned back to the welding table.

“Is that a...table?” Sokka leaned over his shoulder.

“It’s a _shoe rack_ ,” Jet retorted. “Now move back before I weld your faces together.”

“And what does that do?” Zuko asked. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re both knowledgeable enough to know what a shoe rack does.”

“I’m sure he means to ask _why_ you’re making a shoe rack,” Sokka clarified.

Jet stopped, putting down his helmet again. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you decided to make a shoe rack?”

“We all cope in different ways okay?” Jet sighed. It was a while before he replied. “I like welding things. Working with metal. Shit like that.”

“Oh.” Sokka blinked. “Cool.”

“Stop squinting at me like that, Zuko. I’m not all doom and destruction and justice all the time.”

“Force of habit.” Zuko shrugged.

“Why are _you_ here?”

“Thought we heard something banging, and we came to check it out.”

“You were expecting the Mechanist, I assume.”

“Yeah,” Sokka admitted. 

“Well, he always falls asleep in the middle of trying to explain welding safety to me,” Jet explained. “He does it every few nights because he forgets.”

Zuko couldn’t do anything but nod.

“You sure know him well, huh?” 

“The Mechanist has been working with us for about three years now.”

“Before the apocalypse?” Zuko asked. _After I left_?

“Yeah.”

“Can we watch you weld your shoe rack?” Sokka asked.

“Not on your life,” Jet said, tossing the helmet aside and setting the welding gun in its holder. “I prefer to work without two idiots breathing down my neck.”

Sokka shrugged. It was worth asking.

“But you can sit anyway since you’re already here.”

Jet sounded more tired than usual. Zuko wondered how long it’s been since he slept. He was notorious for working late nights and then sleeping the exhaustion off in day-long bursts. Zuko had never approved of such poor sleeping habits, not that he was much better off himself.

Now that they were seated, they could look around the room better. The only light was coming from a light strip built into the panel above the table, and the rest of the room was in a sort of charming disarray. Metal parts lay in clusters around the floor, nestling together alongside bolts and screws and all manners of handheld tools. A bunch of sacks sat in the corner, possibly containing coal and the like, leaning innocently against the wall. The floor was covered in a prominent layer of sawdust and wood shavings, easing a deep musty scent into the air. So _this_ was the Mechanist’s workshop. 

“You’ve been asking me a lot of questions.”

“Uh huh.” Zuko motioned for him to get on with it.

“I have one of my own.”

“Which is?”

“How long have you two been—” Jet gestured to the both of them vaguely. “—this?”

Sokka launched into a coughing fit, like he had swallowed something sharp and couldn’t get it out. If Jet was asking what he just thought he heard, then—

“Oh?” Jet tilted his head. “ _Oh_. I see.”

“Yeah,” Zuko choked out.

“My bad for assuming.” Jet held up his hands.

“We just met,” Zuko clarified. “It’s only been...a week. Or two. Or three. Time kind of blurs together here.”

Jet gave the sharpest slight nod. Time wasn’t exactly kind in the apocalypse.

“Well, you don’t sound like you just met. What kind of shit happened between you two?”

“Uh, it’s a long story,” Sokka said.

“He tased me,” Zuko said.

“Wow, freaky,” Jet said.

“I almost died, Jet.”

Sokka winced. 

“But Sokka did save my life so we’re even,” Zuko added. “And I saved his life. And then he saved mine again.”

He turned to Sokka with an absolutely serious look on his face.

“We should really be keeping count, I’m looking to even the score.”

Sokka snorted in amusement.

Jet raised one eyebrow.

“Well. You were always looking for a fix of danger.”

“I’m not like that anymore.” Zuko gave him a narrow look.

“Yeah? We’re all changed people here.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Zuko _didn’t_ doubt it. The apocalypse changed people. They became more desperate, more animalistic. They became different. None of them were zombies yet, but whoever they were before the apocalypse was long dead. Even then, he couldn’t help but hold Jet as the one he knew from the past.

“Well, I’m not interested in defending myself needlessly.” Jet stood up, returning to his callous and curt demeanor. “Get some sleep, you’ll need it.”

Zuko watched as Jet got up and left.

“Was he always like this?” Sokka whispered.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Zuko sighed. “I can’t believe I once thought he was attractive.”

Sokka huffed out a tiny laugh.

“Was it the hair?”

“Absolutely not.”

“It was the hair.” Sokka folded his arms and laughed.

“Ugh.” Zuko couldn’t help but grin too.

A silence fell over the both of them.

“I can’t sleep now,” Zuko admitted.

“Me neither.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sokka said. “Lie down and hope sleep takes us?”

Zuko turned to Sokka. Suggesting they go to sleep now was like suggesting that they fight a horde of zombies with a fucking butter knife.

“You know what?” Zuko said. “I’m not sleepy enough for that. Let’s just talk. Chat. Converse. Whatever you want to call it.”

Sokka grinned, his smile widening up to his eyes. The flicker of surprise across his face did not go unmissed, but it was quickly replaced by a jubilant curiosity.

“Gladly.”

Zuko was rudely awakened by a loud scuffle outside.

He sat up quickly, reaching around as his eyes adjusted to the light. What time was it? Where was he? What the fuck was he lying on? His arms were sticky with sweat, and pressed up against something heavy and warm and _moving_. 

He nearly screamed when he realized just what exactly he was lying against.

Sokka looked peacefully at ease, soft snores coming from his person.

Zuko was about to freak out. He leapt off the couch, peeling himself off the leather and jumping in place as he tried to keep himself from tearing out his hair. What the fuck. _What the fuck_ . How did they even fall asleep? How did they even fall asleep like _that_? He had so many questions and the answers were nowhere in sight.

The commotion outside grew louder.

“Sokka!” he hissed, trying to shake him awake.

“Huh?” Sokka rolled over, blinking blearily.

“Something’s happening outside,” he said, ignoring the very damning way Sokka’s bed hair fell over his face in soft and fuzzy strands.

Sokka got to his feet, following Zuko to the door.

The sight that greeted them was enough to wake him up for years. 

“What the fuck have you two been doing?” Jet yelled from across the alcove, slamming his boot into the chest of a zombie. “You know what, I _don’t_ want to know.”

“It’s not like that!” Zuko yelled back as they thundered down the stairs.

They had merely talked. Had a conversation. Whatever it was that people did before the apocalypse when they met up with someone their age. Most of the conversation had been about post-apocalypse snack choice, a follow-up from the Hello Panda incident. Sokka was certainly _not_ letting him live the stealing thing down. Zuko had expressed his hate of Skittles, to which Sokka enthusiastically agreed. Sokka had then confessed his guilty love for the Nerds candy, and Zuko had laughed at the irony. He had no idea how they ended up falling asleep—much less on top of each other—but he was not going to think about it at the moment.

He grabbed his machetes, shaking the sleep out of his system. A zombie rushed at him, and he took it out with a sidestep and a slash. This wasn’t new to him. In fact, it was a luxury when you didn’t get woken up by the noises of incoming zombies looking to turn you in your sleep. 

The Freedom Fighters had the majority of the horde contained at the entrance to the building, but they couldn’t keep them all at bay. There were other people, faces that the both of them didn’t recognize, people with their backs to them and fighting alongside the group, a bunch of nameless shapes rushing about in the shadows of the dawning light. These must be the other survivors.

“What happened?” 

“Zombies were charging the other camp,” Jet grunted, trying to shove a zombie off him. “We tried to lead them away, and now we’re stuck with them.”

He ducked, and an arrow whistled above his head, lodging itself in the zombie’s eye.

Zuko looked up.

Longshot was hanging off a ledge, firing his arrows at the zombies that remained. Unfortunately, an arrow usually wasn’t enough to kill zombies. They only succeeded in slowing them down, allowing the rest of them to finish them off on the ground. Sometimes it was enough to turn the tide of the battle, but other times it was not.

“Fuck!” Sokka slammed a pot into the face of said zombie, sending it crashing to the ground.

The Duke rushed over, slamming his knife down into the neck of the squealing zombie. The blood went spurting out of the artery like a fountain, and still the boy did not stop. He continued to dig the knife deeper into the flesh, burying it in the zombie’s neck until its cries were interspersed with an ugly gurgling. It was choking on its own blood. The Duke continued to drive his knife into the shoulders and face until the zombie was nothing but an unmoving pile of blood and bones.

Sokka watched on, eyes wide and pot in hand.

Jet nodded proudly at The Duke, who smiled and bounced off happily towards the other zombies.

“ _Grahhh_!”

Sokka leapt out of the way just as Zuko came crashing down onto the floor in front of him, rolling right back up to his feet. The zombie was gnashing at him, and his machetes seemed to only provoke it even further. If zombies could feel any semblance of human instinct, Sokka reckoned that it would have to be hunger. It was all they knew, and what irony it was for hunger to be the very thing that fueled a zombie’s inhuman tendencies. He could smell it from this proximity, the putrid stench of skin wasting away on bones that were still moving, and the unmistakable smell of _death_.

“Do you need a hand?” Sokka yelled out.

“I got this,” Zuko grunted, swinging at the zombie.

“Are you sure?” Sokka yelled out again. “You don’t look like you got it.”

“Find your own zombie!” Zuko yelled back.

A large shape sailed through the air, landing on the zombie’s back. It dug its swords into the zombie’s neck, slicing its arteries from the inside. The blood went everywhere, spraying into the air like some morbid fountain. The figure didn’t stop slashing at the zombie’s face until the dismally loud screeching that came out of its mangled throat halted and it fell to the ground.

“Try to keep up,” Jet said, getting off the fallen zombie’s back.

Zuko glared at him.

“I don’t need your help.”

“I wasn’t helping you,” Jet scoffed, brandishing his swords once again. The worst part, he was telling the truth.

They turned around and buried their blades and their grievances into the faces of next zombies.

Sokka swung around, surveying the scene. There wasn’t much he could do here without getting in the way. Everyone seemed to be holding their own, and the only thing he had that could remotely be considered helpful was a pot. A fucking pot. He should be getting out of their way instead of standing in the middle of the fight like an idiot.

Ever since he left everything back in that damned hotel room, he felt like he had lost his shield, his armor, everything that protected him from the harsh realities of the post-apocalyptic world outside. All his months of research trying to figure out everything he could about the virus was gone. All his weapons and tools that had tided him through some truly hellish times were gone. Even his tech was gone. No more noise cancellation devices and comfy, maze-like hotel corridors. It was living life on the run now, fighting with anything he had and thinking on his feet, just like Zuko. 

“ _Psst!_ ”

He whirled around.

Right there. Under the stairs. There was another door, a smaller one that would have been entirely obstructed from view if there had been no light coming through from the other side. 

“In here,” the Mechanist seemed to beckon. 

Sokka understood. He broke into a quiet sprint, crossing the space in seconds and ducking into the door, vanishing into what he would have to trust was a safer space than the alcove itself.

Meanwhile, the fight raged on outside.

Pipsqueak had wrapped his arms around a smaller zombie, holding it in place as it thrashed and snapped at him. Its face had been smashed in with a club already, the shards of skull hanging in place around the decaying eye socket as it writhed in his grasp. Jet strolled over to the squirming creature, holding out his twin swords. With a chilling smile on his face, he took the first slice, right across the breastbone. The blood spurted out of the deep gash, spraying all over the floor, the red so dark it was practically black. The zombie gasped. The next slash was across its face, the vitreous fluid sloshing out of its eyeball as it fell onto the floor with a sickening plop. The zombie screamed with what was left of its jaw, teeth and gum hanging in shreds and dangling past its neck. Zuko had never heard a zombie scream like that. It didn’t stop Jet from making more cuts—controlled and precise in the worst possible ways—on its arms and legs. His eyes sparked with a sadistic glee as it twisted about, trying to escape a merciless and slow bloody death.

Jet raised his blades again.

“ _Jet_.”

Zuko grabbed his hand, wrestling the sword out of it.

“It’s already dying.”

Jet huffed, his breaths coming out shallow and errant. He turned to Zuko, his black eyes blazing with something that Zuko was all too familiar with: hatred. His face flared with the red of rage, sweat dripping from his brow and cutting through the harsh lines of his face. 

“So?” Jet shook Zuko’s hand off with a sharp jerk. “It deserves it.”

Zuko was at a loss for words, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Look at it, Zuko.” Jet pulled him over to the zombie, still twitching in Pipsqueak’s death grip. “ _Look_. Tell me what you see.”

There was no life left in its eyes anymore. It looked mangled and damaged and uncharacteristically weak for a zombie. It was bleeding and rotting and falling apart at every possible angle, unable to move, unable to fight back. Of course, he told Jet none of these observations. 

“They were once human, you know,” Zuko said, his voice feeble. To think such a horrible creature could have once been human really fucked with his mind; it was almost beyond his scope of comprehension, even if he knew it was true. This was a zombie, one that had probably brought down many others along with it. But it was a _zombie_. A vessel with no free will, a puppet of mass destruction, a pawn of some fucking virus that drove humanity to its own death. Yeah, it was pretty crazy to defend a zombie, and he felt no pity for them, but some part of Zuko couldn’t help but lash out at the idea of torturing them. 

“They’re fucking _dead_!” Jet threw his hands over his head in frustration. “What part of the undead do you not understand?”

Zuko knew Jet was right. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to admit it.

“You kill zombies too,” Jet said. “You should understand.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I _torture_ them!” Zuko protested.

“You’re not the one who’s doing it.” Jet shook his head. “You said you won’t try to stop me.”

Zuko tried to look to the others for some sort of agreement, some sort of understanding, some sort of _help_. The Freedom Fighters were averting their gazes, faces stony and resigned, like this was a truth they had accepted long ago. The other survivors were strangers, even more so now that he could see their agreement. The silence told Zuko all he needed to know.

“Fine,” he bit out. “You do things your way. I want no part of it.”

“You may fight for yourself,” Jet cautioned. “But try to stop us from fighting for the world and we won’t be so kind in the future.”

Zuko bit his lip.

“There are more survivors out there,” Jet said. “You can fight for them if you come with us.”

Zuko had a feeling that it wasn’t an invitation. If he had to go, he wasn’t going alone.

“Where’s Sokka?”

Jet looked around too.

“Where’s the old man?”

As if on cue, a shouting erupted from under the staircase.

“Through here!” Jet leapt into action, rushing towards the door.

Zuko ran after him and together they wrestled the door open. It was dark at first, the light weak and barely there, as if someone had knocked over a lamp. The place smelled rancid, like something had been rotting in there for weeks. He wrinkled his nose, trying to see what on earth was going on. There was a loud scuffling on the other end, and what sounded like the clanging of metal. Metal _chains_. 

“It’s loose!” Sokka yelled, springing out of the darkness and crashing straight into Zuko.

The zombie snapped after him, the chain pulling taut just in time as Jet tugged on the other end.

“What the fuck!” Zuko leapt back, pulling Sokka back with him as they pressed up against a wall and as far away from the lecherous creature as possible.

“Don’t be alarmed,” the Mechanist emerged out of nowhere. He held something sharp in his metal hand, the metal digits closing around the blade. With deft precision and one quick stroke, he severed an artery in the zombie’s neck, rendering it to a twitching mess in the next second. It flopped about on the ground, as if it could no longer control its own movements. Jet finished it off, crushing its skull under his boot.

“What was that?” Zuko panted.

“One of my test subjects,” the Mechanist said with a thin grin. 

“Test subjects?” 

“Oh, yes. Part of an experiment I’ve been working on,” the old man explained, entirely unfazed by the ordeal. “I may not be able to find a cure, _yet_ , but I can certainly turn down their aggression levels to a point where it is practically non-existent.”

Zuko didn’t know what to say. He was certain that experimenting on zombies was somewhere up there with torturing them on the list of questionable ethics, but he wasn’t in a position to speak up about it. All he could was stare at the lifeless corpse on the floor, its atrophied limbs splayed out on the rock.

“An experiment that could change the world,” Jet said, eyes glinting. “This could be the breakthrough that humanity needs.”

Zuko could see that Sokka wasn’t so sure himself.

“You do you, Jet.” 

“I’m not doing it for me,” Jet said. “We’re doing it for the world.”

There was the determination in his eyes again. The one that Zuko fell for a long time ago. It was like a fire that blazed higher and higher, one that couldn’t be put out so easily, and one that burned through everything in its path. If you weren’t careful enough when you were by his side, you would be burned too. Zuko always did like to play with fire—that much was true. Maybe it was time for a change.

“Now, are you coming with us or not?”

“It’s time we leave,” Zuko stood his ground. “This is not our place.”

Jet looked unsurprised at his answer.

“Then I wish you the best of luck out there.”

With one last look over his shoulder, he left.

“Where do we go?” Sokka asked.

“We’ll figure it out.”

They packed up their things in the cool and pallid silence of the morning. It was bleak outside, with no sunlight streaming through to the alcove. The corpses lay like dismal decorations around the place, left for dead and waiting for someone to come and clean them up, faces frozen in gnarly expressions. They worked in silence, shoving their own belongings into their bags.

“Here,” the Mechanist supplied them with some food and water and a medical kit. “You’ll need it for what you’ll be facing out there.”

“Thank you,” Zuko said, unafraid to say it now. “For everything.”

“Thank you for having us,” Sokka agreed.

“I know there are certain things that not everyone would agree with,” the Mechanist continued. “It is good to have some doubt even in these times.”

“Doubt gets you killed,” Zuko said simply.

The Mechanist looked at him with a sad smile, but he said nothing. Then he turned to Sokka.

“Never lose your curiosity,” he advised. “It makes the world wonderful.”

Sokka nodded, his eyes thoughtful once again.

The Mechanist turned to retreat to his workshop.

“On the topic of my curiosity,” Sokka began. “I have a question.”

The Mechanist nodded for him to continue.

“ _Is this what you wanted_?”

The Mechanist did not flinch, but he may as well have. Zuko caught it. The slight flicker in his eyes, the tenseness of his jaw. It was there and he saw it.

“Sometimes you have to do things for the ones you love,” the old man replied cryptically. He offered no further explanation, so Sokka didn’t press.

“We’ll be going now,” Zuko announced, hiking the bag up higher on his shoulders.

They turned to leave.

“And sometimes you have to know when to ask the right questions,” the Mechanist said, a whisper in the wind behind them. 

Sokka had a feeling that the words were directed at him, but by the time he had turned around to check, the Mechanist had already hobbled off towards the stairs. They were alone now, left standing in the quiet of the aftermath. It only made it that much more obvious that they did not belong here anymore. Not that they ever did.

“Let’s go,” Zuko said.

Sokka nodded.

It was time to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's honestly such a treat writing their interactions and dynamics and I'm starting to flesh out their characterizations. I also wanted to convey that nothing is as it seems through this chapter, be it Zuko or Sokka or the Fighters or the Mechanist. 
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	12. The Nosedive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We should stay close to the sea,” Zuko said.  
> “Why?”  
> “If a zombie comes for us we can jump in and swim,” Zuko explained. “They don’t swim as far as I know. You do swim, right?”  
> “Does it matter if we’re gonna get swept away by the raging currents in the middle of the night?”  
> “A far more desirable fate than turning into a zombie.”  
> “Good point,” Sokka said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: drinking, alcohol consumption  
> This is a very dialogue-heavy chapter, but it is very zukka-centric.

The wind wove through the abandoned game stands, rustling through the flapping tarps and sending a chill shooting up Sokka’s spine. The smell of spilt motor oil and sticky food residue collected in a bitter pool at the bottom of his stomach, mingling with the salty tang of the ocean, and not necessarily in a good way. The tall and spindly black outline of the roller coasters loomed above them, the tracks empty and unused for good reason. The moonlight was weak, and there was barely enough for them to just walk around without falling off the pier to their watery death or stepping on rotting food spillage, whichever was worse. Sokka could barely even see the outline of Zuko’s face. Every step he took made an awkward creaking sound over the dirty wood plank floor, and he tried to lighten his steps to quell the niggling voice at the back of his mind that just wouldn’t shut up about zombies coming for them. 

They had taken the high road, quite literally. The only way to get here was to cross a disconcertingly empty stretch of road carved into the side of a hill so steep that Sokka couldn’t be convinced that it wasn’t a mountain. The entrances to the park had been boarded up in the evacuation. In the middle of the road, with nothing but a flashlight and their wits, they had climbed onto some very shaky scaffolding—probably the remnants of a building in construction—the majority of the lower levels decimated and reduced to nothing but the rubble on the floor down below. Sokka had to pray to a god he didn’t believe in just to find some comfort in hoping that the whole thing didn’t suddenly just give way under their feet as they slowly descended to the ground. To make matters worse, it had rained on their way here, offering them a worrying lack of visibility and a lot of near heart-attacks every time one of them slipped. 

At least the zombies couldn’t follow them down here. He hoped.

“We made it,” Sokka panted from both exhaustion and disbelief. “We actually made it.”

“We should stay close to the sea,” Zuko said.

“Why?”

“If a zombie comes for us we can jump in and swim,” Zuko explained. “They don’t swim as far as I know. You do swim, right?”

“Does it matter if we’re gonna get swept away by the raging currents in the middle of the night?”

“A far more desirable fate than turning into a zombie.”

“Good point,” Sokka said.

They crossed through the abandoned rides and ticket booths. It was downright eerie—an amusement park with nobody around. It felt like it came straight out of a horror movie. Then again, the past five months had felt like a movie too, some shitty zombie movie that they couldn’t get out of. Whatever was the stuff of movies and fiction before the apocalypse had come to bite humanity in the ass.

“Just think of it as a stopover. We’ll be out of here by morning.”

Zuko set down the supplies. Their journey back to the dingy little apartment had been thrown out the window by an impenetrable sea of zombies back around the department store. It was terrifying, those dormant zombies and their lifeless eyes. They looked like wind-up toys stuck on repeat, lumbering around with no aim, waiting for the first sign of life to whir into action. They had both agreed that it wasn’t worth the risk trying to get back to where they had started with. Even if it meant leaving behind the supplies that they stashed away in the apartment. They had enough left over from the Mechanist’s to tide them through a few more sleepless nights.

Sokka had sat himself down on the edge of the pier, feet dangling off the edge and above inky water. He had lapsed into a thoughtful silence again, something that Zuko had noticed him doing a lot recently. 

“What are you thinking about?”

Sokka looked at him like he had just asked him whether the world was ending.

“What?”

“I’m asking you what you’re thinking about,” Zuko repeated himself, settling down next to Sokka. “You don’t have to tell me, but you look like you’re thinking about something.”

“Oh.” Sokka blinked. “Yeah, I’m thinking about the world.”

“What about it?”

“It’s just strange. Being outside I mean.”

“Yeah,” Zuko agreed, even though he could not share the same sentiment. He had been moving from place to place, sleeping in barns and nestling behind abandoned haystacks for warmth out there in the countryside. Being outside was second nature to him by now. It was weirder to be sleeping under a ceiling or cooped up inside a room. He felt like he couldn’t breathe when he was indoors sometimes. “Must be.”

“Don’t you ever wonder?” Sokka turned to him.

“About what?”

“I mean. Is this really the end?” Sokka asked. “Is this all there is for humanity?”

Zuko pondered about it. He hadn’t really spared much thought for existential questions like these—except on those lonely nights when he couldn’t help but worry about the state of the world—having conserved most of his energy for things like running and fighting and eating. He supposed that it was natural to wonder about such things, and in fact it would be quite worrying if one didn’t wonder about them. Which was why he was wondering about it now. No time like the present.

“I guess we’re all there is of humanity,” Zuko answered. “For now.”

“Yeah.” Sokka looked like he was thinking harder. “ _ Yeah _ , you’re right. It’s wack.”

“What’s wack? Me being right?”

Sokka whacked him in the shoulder.

“You know I wasn’t referring to that.”

They settled into silence, watching the night sky shine with the brilliance of a thousand stars. No civilization meant no light pollution, and no light pollution meant actually visible stars. It was beautiful. Stunning. There were so many of them. Zuko had almost forgotten how to appreciate them in the haste of survival. Everything was dark but the stars, and the moon, and the sea. The waves crashing against the rock walls over and over again were calming. There should’ve been a poetic statement somewhere in there, but Zuko had never been good at poems.

“Then do you ever wonder about what’s down there?” Sokka stuck out his arm towards the sea.

“Yeah,” Zuko said. “Fish. Big fish.”

Sokka laughed.

“It’s crazy how much we don’t know about our own oceans. Now we may never get to know.”

“We can go explore the ocean someday.” Zuko shrugged.

“Deal. We can take a submarine or something. Bring snacks.”

Zuko chuckled.

“There’s probably as much for us to find in the ocean as there is for us out there in the stars,” Sokka marvelled. “Who knows what lurks in those depths?”

Zuko stared at him as he looked off beyond the horizon. If only he could see what Sokka was thinking about.

“So, you know stars?”

“Yeah, always wanted to explore space. I used to study astronomy like a religion,” Sokka confessed. “Call me crazy, but I believe that there’s life among the stars. You only see it in alien movies, but I swear the study of extraterrestrial life is much more complex than what they paint it to be. They have whole papers written up on this shit, and there’s so much insight to be gained once you get over yourself and put aside the whole ‘aliens are bullshit’ mindset.” 

_ God, what a nerd _ .

“I’ve always wondered if aliens existed,” Zuko offered, biting back his nerd comment. “So is this astronomy thing like a hobby or something?”

“I was in an astronomy club for two years,” Sokka replied. “They didn’t do much except slack around, but I loaned out all their equipment and went stargazing on my own.”

Zuko made an appraising noise. He hadn’t taken Sokka for a delinquent.

“I was in a drama club.”

Sokka snorted—a loud, choking sound of amusement.

“ _ You _ ? A theatre kid? Holy shit.”

“I was in a lot of plays alright?” Zuko scoffed. “Lead role.”

“Impressive.”

Sokka had never been much of an art kid. He had tried time and time again to get into some sort of creative hobby, but every outlet he used to vent his creative frustration had fallen short. He had tried drawing, but his stickmen were looking a little sorry after a while. He had tried music, but he was just no good with an instrument. He had tried dance, only to discover that the interpretative in interpretative dance had a line, which he crossed, multiple times. He had always held some level of respect for those who made their bed in the artistic fields.

“So, where are you from?” Zuko coughed. It was a question he had been wanting to ask for a long time, but had been holding back. It was clearly written across his face, the way he tried to play it off as a casual question he just thought up on the spot. Sokka knew better. “You haven’t told me.”

“A small island surrounded by water,” Sokka recounted. “The name doesn’t matter now. All that you have to know about it is that it was entirely isolated in the middle of the ocean, and that the people rode seals to work.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Zuko perked up. “Seals? That’s cool.”

“Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m joking,” Sokka chuckled. “I wish we rode seals to work. It would probably be much faster than the logjam of cars on the road.”

Zuko usually hated being made the butt of jokes, but he supposed that this was an exception. In fact, he wouldn’t usually call himself a very humorful person, or someone who appreciated humor in general. Yet for some reason, he hadn’t once found a fault with Sokka’s humor thus far. He had to admit that the dude was respectful—a stark contrast from the kind of ugly humor that the kids back in his school enjoyed, the kind that was built at the expense of someone’s dignity. Even if he could be unbearably sarcastic at times.

“How’d you get here then?”

“Took a plane,” Sokka said. “I stopped at the airport, then took a cab to the hotel. The instant I checked in, they announced it. Haven’t even gotten a chance to admire the goddamn bathtub and I was already running for my life.”

“So you never made it to the science fair?”

“Nope, not that it matters now,” Sokka sighed. “The only invention that would really matter now is a cure.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

Sokka gave him a look.

“How would you know?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “I’ve seen you. You just seem like the kind of guy who wouldn’t give up on humanity, or science.”

“That’s...strangely sweet of you.”

Zuko laughed. Nobody’s ever said that to him. The very idea that someone would call him sweet amused him to no end.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea.”

“Is this like the last idea?” Zuko asked, flashbacks of the body spray flamethrower rushing through his mind.

“No,” Sokka snorted. “Okay, maybe.”

“What is it?” Zuko wondered if he would regret asking.

Sokka got up and fetched the bag. He stuck his arm in it, rummaging around for something in the dark. He pulled out a bottle.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Zuko said.

Miraculously, the vodka had survived both their encounter with Jet’s gang and the zombies.

“Figured that now is as good a time to drink it as any other.”

“You want to drink it straight?” Zuko asked, incredulous. “From the bottle?”

“...Yes?”

“I’ve only ever had vodka mixed,” Zuko blurted out, like it was something to be ashamed of. 

“That’s no problem,” Sokka said. “You can just take it slow and drink in sips.”

Zuko gulped. It was a fact that he had been proudly hiding for two years since he’d been legal now, but he was an absolute  _ wuss _ when it came to alcohol. He couldn’t stand the stuff straight. It was bitter, and tasted like it came straight out of the devil’s asshole. He knew it was supposed to be like some sort of high school rite—drinking underage—but he had never understood the appeal. The first time he tried beer at a graduation party, he had nearly thrown up on the nearest unfortunate soul, which so happened to be a guy he had a crush on. Of course, he never attended a party ever again. The most natural step to take once you’ve embarrassed yourself, of course.

Sokka must’ve noticed the distress in his silence.

“Or, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to. I know what the TV and all that shit say about how drinking is cool and how any teenager who’s a teenager should drink, but I don’t give a damn about that kind of shit. It’s the apocalypse. You don’t have to follow what everyone says is cool.”

Zuko stared at him, lips pursed.

“Okay. But I’ll try some.”

He was pretty sure Sokka just grinned at him, but he couldn’t tell for sure in the darkness.

Using a knife, Sokka cracked the cap open and took a swig.

“ _ Ah _ ,” he sighed. “Sometimes the cheap stuff’s better.”

Zuko took the bottle tentatively.

“Don’t drink too much if you think you’re gonna get drunk,” Sokka cautioned. “It won’t do us any good to be wasted in the middle of a zombie apocalypse.”

_ Should’ve thought of that before we unearthed the bottle _ , Zuko thought with amusement. This was a bad idea, but strange as it sounded, he trusted Sokka. He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a tiny sip. The bitterness punched him right in the throat as he forced himself to swallow, making a gagging sound of disgust at the taste. Fuck, that tasted bad.

“Dude, that’s fucking disgusting.”

“I agree,” Sokka laughed and took another swig.

“Then why do you drink?”

“Well, you’re talking to a victim of the whole ‘drinking is cool’ propaganda,” Sokka admitted. “It all started back when I was a wee fifteen-year-old, when I thought drinking would be cool. Then again, I also thought crocs were cool, so I should’ve known how shit my judgment was.”

Zuko couldn’t help but snort. Crocs. What a nightmare. 

“So I started with beer,” Sokka explained. “Don’t we all? Anyway, it tasted like piss.”

Zuko enthusiastically voiced his agreement.

“Then it was wine. Soon, I built up a good tolerance, and it took stuff like whiskey or vodka to get me tipsy. To take the edge off. Clouds the mind so I couldn’t think.”

Zuko hoped that he could communicate his concern with his silence.

“Yeah, there was a time where I didn’t want to think,” Sokka said, laughing bitterly. “But it’s better now. Thinking is something I choose to do, something that I actually  _ like _ doing.”

He passed Zuko the bottle. Zuko took another sip, much to his own foolhardy chagrin.

“I haven’t done anything I regretted when I was drunk yet,” Sokka said, sounding like he very much wished he had. “I’ve always tried to be more careful of it the older I got.”

Zuko blinked. He had always known that Sokka was another human, just like himself, but had he really  _ known _ ? Had he truly understood and processed that Sokka was another human being with concerns and weaknesses and doubts and regrets? Maybe not. Until now, at least. Maybe it was the vodka currently coasting through his veins, but he was starting to feel a little fuzzy about the fact that Sokka was telling him about himself. It was truly strange. Maybe it was the fact that they were in an apocalypse. He certainly hadn’t had this much desire to learn about someone he had just met before everything happened.

“So yeah, here I am,” Sokka said, taking another drink. “I’m not looking to get drunk here. It just, it feels right, you know.”

Zuko thought he understood what Sokka was saying. It felt right, because drinking was something that people did before the whole zombie thing. It was normal. Even celebratory. A semblance of life before the wave. If that’s what Sokka meant, he thought he could empathize.

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” he offered. “Life’s fucked now. I would like a reminder of who I was, or what I did before this whole shitstorm too.”

Sokka was staring at him. Zuko could tell from the way his own cheeks heated up. Or maybe it was the alcohol, he had no idea.

“Not that I’m saying drinking is who you were before this!” he hurriedly corrected himself. “I’m just saying, well, you know. Things we did. Like normal life. And all that.”

Fuck, was the alcohol making him more incoherent or were his conversation skills just that bad?

“Don’t worry, I get what you mean,” Sokka chuckled.

“You do?” 

“It’s okay if you don’t know how to reply to what I say, you know.”

“It is?” Zuko was puzzled. It would be rude not to respond.

“Yeah,” Sokka said. “Just the fact that you’re listening is cool with me.”

“Oh, cool,” Zuko said. He had decided that he may be just a little tipsy at the moment. Curse his stupidly low alcohol tolerance. He could feel all the blood rushing into his cheeks already and he had barely even taken two sips of the damned vodka.

“I talk too much sometimes,” Sokka continued. He made it sound like a fact, and Zuko didn’t know how to tell him that he wished it could be different. He didn’t care if Sokka talked too much. He didn’t have to tell Zuko that. “Or say the wrong thing.”

Zuko could hardly imagine Sokka saying the wrong thing. From what he’s seen, Sokka always seemed to know what to say. If there was anyone who was saying the wrong thing around here, it was himself. Zuko wasn’t the best with words, or speaking, or talking to anyone really. He much preferred to keep to himself, and stay out of business he was not concerned with. 

“What’s it like in your home country?”

“It’s probably trashed,” Sokka said. “It’s small, and we don’t have many defences. The virus probably took over it real quick.”

“I mean, what’s it like before this whole thing started?”

“Oh,” Sokka said. “Cozy, I guess. Not like your city for sure. We had cities back there, but much smaller than the cities here, and way less—”

He gestured vaguely, and all Zuko could see was moving dark shapes.

“Frantic? Harried? Whatever it is that people give off when they run for stuff they’re late for.”

“Ah,” Zuko replied. “It is pretty busy. Was. I lived on the outskirts, so it wasn’t as busy as the city center. It’s quite a way off from everywhere else, but I had a chauffeur to get me to school.”

“Cool.”

Zuko was just glad Sokka didn’t ask why he had a chauffeur. Then he had a vague and worrying thought. What if Sokka was judging him right now? What if Sokka hated rich people? What if he thought Zuko was some stuck up brat? If there was anything he had learnt from school, it was that a lot of people didn’t take too kindly to being reminded of just how wealthy his family had been. He supposed that he should’ve felt grateful for having grown into money, but most days it felt like a curse. Besides, what use was it being rich when everyone was dead? 

“Aren’t these the outskirts?”

“Hm?” Zuko snapped back to the present. “Yeah. My house was just right over that hill. It was the only one with three stories. I used to be proud of that.”

“Woah,” Sokka remarked. 

“Yeah.” Zuko smiled sadly. “It’s where I spent my childhood.”

“Before you ran away?” 

“Yup.”

Sokka pondered for a moment.

“You said you had to leave behind things you love. What does that mean?”

“Oh,” Zuko balked. He hadn’t been expecting Sokka to remember that. “I guess I mean both. Actual things and other things, like feelings. In a sense, I left my youth behind in that house.”

“That makes sense.”

“And I couldn’t bring some things with me anyway. Sentiment is no use when you’re running from your past.”

Sokka opened his mouth to speak, but he let Zuko continue. 

“I had a box of photos,” Zuko recalled. “Most of them were taken by my uncle. He had an interest in photography, had this old camera that he carried everywhere with him. He would bring it on our little trips, take lots of photos, print them all out. I kept them all even after all these years.”

“What happened to them?”

“I left them behind,” Zuko whispered, as if admitting the truth out loud would further solidify the fact that he was never going back. “In the house. I couldn’t bring it along. Thought I was being too sentimental. I don’t know if I regret it.”

“Sentiment keeps us sane when all hope is lost,” Sokka said quietly. 

“Well, I think sentiment gets you killed,” Zuko let on. “I can’t afford to be sentimental. Not now.”

“Well, then I hope that a day comes when you can.”

Sokka said it with such sincerity that it shocked Zuko.

“So.” Sokka took another sip. “Do you miss him?”

“Yeah,” Zuko said with no hesitation now that his tipsiness was in full force. 

Sokka’s silence gave him the go ahead to continue.

“My uncle was the only family I had,” Zuko said. “Well, not really. But it sure felt that way.”

“Ah,” Sokka said. “Me with my sister.”

“I would ask what happened, but I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay.” Sokka waved it off. “My mother got taken away when I was a kid. Border war. Never saw her again. If she wasn’t already dead, she probably is by now.”

Zuko was unsure of whether he should say that he was sorry. He had never been much good at dealing with his own loss, much less someone else’s.

“My dad fought in the same war,” Sokka continued. “He was never the same afterwards. He tries to be a good father, though. Well, tried.”

“Wish I could say the same for my father,” Zuko said.

“Why’s that?”

Wordlessly, Zuko pointed to his scar.

“Oh.” Sokka paled in realization. “ _ Oh _ , that’s horrible.”

“It was a long time ago.” Zuko shrugged. “I’m better with it now.”

Sokka fell into silence. He looked like he wanted to say something.

“If you have something to say, go ahead and say it.”

“Can I touch it?”

Zuko was taken off guard by the question. He had expected a word of blatant curiosity or unintended insensitivity, not...whatever this is. He nodded in his shock. It had to be the alcohol. 

Sokka scooted closer, slowly reaching out his hand in the dark. It was hard to see his face, but Zuko could see the shine of his eyes as Sokka moved his hand to rest on the left side of his face. The touch startled him for a moment, his shoulders bunching up, but he tried to breathe and relax into the brush of Sokka’s fingers on his skin. After a tense moment had passed, Sokka became more sure with his touch, moving his fingers over the tender red of Zuko’s scar. 

“Does it hurt?”

Sokka cradled Zuko’s face in his hand.

“No.”

Zuko shivered.  _ Far from it _ .

“I don’t feel anything there,” he admitted. “It’s like the skin’s dead.”

Sokka didn’t say anything. He just kept his hand on Zuko’s face, his eyes held onto the scar. Zuko had panicked for a split second about feeling trapped under such scrutiny, but he found himself settling comfortably into Sokka’s gaze instead. The moonlight was reflecting off Sokka’s eyes, the only thing he could see under the cover of night. This was the first time that he hadn’t seen them deep in thought. Instead, they were turned towards him with a look that he could only describe as  _ soft _ . He didn’t know how to feel about it.

“Nobody’s ever done that before.”

Zuko had no idea why he just said that. 

“It doesn’t make you any less pretty,” Sokka whispered. 

Nope. He was hearing things. Zuko was drunk. Were auditory hallucinations a side effect of being drunk? They had to be. He was fucking hearing things. Sokka did not just call him pretty. He couldn’t have. What the fuck.

Sokka was staring at him now.

Zuko was staring back. He couldn’t see Sokka too well, but he was sure that if he could, he would find himself captured in the ocean blue of his eyes. He would be mapping out the planes of Sokka’s face in his drunken stupor, tracing the curve of his nose and the lines of his jaw. He would be taking quick and nervous glances at Sokka’s lips, the thrumming of forbidden thoughts in his head, longing to be let free.  _ Sokka _ was the pretty one. Zuko couldn’t believe that it had taken him this long to come to terms with it.

No, this was the vodka talking. It had to be the—

Sokka closed the distance between them. 

All the thoughts were instantly banished from Zuko’s head.

It’s been ages since he’s kissed anyone, really. He wasn’t one to actively crave physical affection, nor did he find himself grappling for anything of the sort, but right there and then on the windy pier, he wanted  _ more _ . He found himself leaning deeper into the kiss, his hands wandering up to Sokka’s face like they had a mind of their own, desperately searching for more. It was a strange feeling, to be aware of the fact that you were actually kissing someone and they were kissing you back. He could feel Sokka’s breathing against the thumping of his own heart in his throat, a steadily growing tendril of warmth that reached deep into his heartstrings and pulled out torrent after torrent of emotion that he had kept buried.

He wondered if Sokka wanted more too.

It felt like a temporary eternity had passed when they pulled away from each other.

“Fuck, Zuko I—”

Zuko kissed him again. The sound that Sokka made against his lips silenced the voice in the back of his mind that told him he might regret this come morning. The thumping of his heart and the buzzing of his brain was quickly winning over the hurricane of thoughts in his head, screaming a silent plea for him to get away now, to run far far away from anything that might make him  _ feel _ again. He felt bolder than ever, and it was probably the alcohol, but hell if he wasn’t going to show Sokka exactly what he felt right now. Even if wasn’t sure if he would still feel this way sober, he wasn’t going to run anymore. Where could you run when the world was ending anyway?

Sokka grabbed at Zuko’s hair hungrily too, carding his fingers through whatever strands he could find, as if the moment he let go Zuko might just disappear into the night. How long had he wanted this? He could not think straight through the brush of teeth on his bottom lip, through the heat of Zuko’s skin under his fingers, through the taste of the bitter vodka painted on his lips. 

The world fell away around them. Just two people on a pier in the night, kissing like there wasn’t a thing in the world that mattered to them in the moment. They were alone now, but they had each other. It was starting to sink in now.  _ They had each other _ . They had found each other, and now they were here, together, by each other’s side. It was truly mind-boggling. 

Zuko didn’t know how long they would have with each other and how long it would be before they went their separate ways again. He didn’t know if what they had could last more than the murmurs of the alcohol, or the whispering of thoughts and feelings that felt like the night may never end, or the pulsing of something under the surface of his heart that a saner person might have called  _ hope _ . No, he didn’t know if this could be real.

But maybe, just  _ maybe _ , he wanted it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the dialogue-centric nature of this chapter, honestly it was a refreshing and challenging change from the pace of the other chapters which usually have more description or narration or action in them. I found it quite interesting to flesh out their dynamic and work in more of their past into this chapter. And of course, there is The Kiss. Can you believe this was meant to be a slow burn? My definition of slow burn means at least 40k words of mutual pining, but these guys did an idiots-to-lovers-to-idiot-lovers speedrun in like, Weeks, so there.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	13. The Encounter Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, who’s Suki?” Zuko whispered to Sokka. A name he didn’t even recognize didn’t exactly clear things up.  
> Sokka gave him the most baffled but amazed look.  
> “Say, what are the chances of running into both our exes in the middle of the apocalypse?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stage whispers* there's an Encounter Pt. II? You betcha.

Zuko had a strange relationship with amusement parks. In fact, he had always had a strange relationship with having fun in general. Amusement parks were the epitome of fun, or so everyone liked to tell him. Fun rides, game stalls, lots of sweet and greasy foods. Somehow there has to be a modicum of fun in those things, rights? Surely there had to be something fun about losing your mind and your lunch screaming over a fast-paced roller coaster ride. Surely there had to be something fun about tossing hoops at bottles while everyone watching jeered or cheered you on for a toy. Surely there had to be something fun about stuffing yourself sick with buttered popcorn. Surely there had to be something he was missing.

Either way, none of that explained why he was here, stuck in a _bumper car_ of all things.

The sky was impossibly gray, wrought with clouds that barely stood out against the bleak expanse of half-light. It cast a gloom over the sprawling skeletons of metal and tarp, painting the abandoned park in an eeriness that not even the night could. Zuko scrambled up into a sitting position. His head hurt, so he lay back down onto the grimey, sweat-soaked leather seat of the bumper car. What time was it?

Something was stirring behind him. Not something, _someone_.

“What…?” Sokka rubbed his eyes as his head poked out over the hood of another bumper car behind Zuko’s, hair reminiscent of a ruffled chicken. “Is it morning?”

“Beats me,” Zuko murmured, trying to quell the throbbing at the base of his neck. Even the sound of his own voice ricocheting through his head and out of his mouth was too loud. Was this what they called a hangover? His throat felt like it was closing up from how dry it was, and he had to blink to make sure he could focus on what was right in front of him at the moment. His head was braced in a giddy layer of stiflingly numb heat, the only thing stopping him from falling back into an uneasy sleep.

He looked over at Sokka, who looked vastly less disoriented, and one might even venture to say a little _cheerful_ on this gloomy morning. There was an infuriating assuredness in the way he moved and talked, like he still had full control over all his limbs and his facial expressions, instead of the garbled mess of frown lines and sore joints that Zuko was currently struggling with. 

“How are you even awake right now?”

He was already regretting letting himself fall prey to the charms and wiles of one Sokka, and letting himself be talked into—Wait. _Wait_. Zuko trailed off when he was struck by a sudden and vivid memory—a clap of cold lightning across his face. 

Sokka. _Sokka_. Sokka had kissed him. And he kissed Sokka back. Jesus fucking christ.

“Well, I don’t really get hangovers,” Sokka explained. “My body kinda unlearned it.”

Does Sokka remember it? There was no way Sokka didn’t remember it, right?

“Now isn’t that fair?” Zuko murmured, lapsing back into a state of cynical snark when his brain was too unwired to think of any other coherent response. He was desperately trying to look anywhere but Sokka—at the pier which looked so much dingier in the day, at the barren roller coaster where crows had made their sinister perch, at the dismal dulling of the tarps that lifted in the wind. Anywhere but Sokka. Avoid eye contact at all costs. He was still desperately flipping through a poorly-pieced together montage of vague memories and flashes of images from the night before, trying to search for a sign that they had done anything else he could hold his avoidance to, anything else that could confirm that it was all _real_ and not some foolish dream or impossible hope. 

Oh god. Oh _god_ , what if they had…?

“Just so you know, I totally won at bumper cars.”

...played bumper cars. Okay. Zuko had no idea whether to be disappointed or not.

“I don’t even remember how we got here...or started driving bumpers cars around, apparently.”

Zuko’s nerves felt like they were on fire when he thought about how he couldn’t remember how he even got here last night. Was he really that wasted? A huge part of his mind was screaming with alarm bells at the fact that they could have been attacked by zombies or ambushed by thieves and he wouldn’t even have been conscious enough to fight them. He could’ve died, and he wouldn’t even have been aware enough to even register it. Even worse, he could’ve embarrassed himself in front of Sokka. Which he probably did, and couldn’t remember. Fuck. This was dangerous. 

“We really shouldn’t have drank—”

“ _Shh_!”

Sokka shushed him. Then, he pointed into the distance.

“What?”

“Did you see that?”

With a tremendous amount of effort, Zuko hauled himself up and turned around to follow Sokka’s gaze. There was nothing there. Just a bunch of tarp-covered, dismantled train cars, the kind that was a garish shade of red and played awfully loud and bouncy music when it drove past to appeal to the kids. 

“I see nothing.”

“You just missed it,” Sokka huffed. “Maybe next time you should—”

Something rustled.

“There!” Sokka hissed.

Something had moved past. Flew past? It was such a blur that Zuko wasn’t exactly sure what he just saw. The hangover was _not_ helping either. 

“Was that a...zombie?”

“I sure fucking hope not,” Sokka breathed. “If they’re that fast now, we’re basically fucked.”

“Probably not,” Zuko agreed, if only to soothe his own crawling nerves. “It’d be attacking us by now with your loud mouth. Would have mauled us to death in our sleep.”

“What if it’s a ghost?” Sokka brought up.

“Really? The ghost thing again?” Zuko groaned. It was too early for this shit. He lay back down. “If you really think ghosts exist, then why don’t you—”

He was cut off by a sharp blow of pain to his stomach. The same blur whooshed past, flying cleanly over his head and over the car, landing on the other side. 

“What the fuck—”

Zuko heard a thump, and Sokka had gone quiet. Fearing the worst, he leapt up, ready to fight even without his machetes. His lower ribs were cramping up, and his breathing was getting faster and harder, and he struggled just trying to get to his feet. This was an ambush, and he was no stranger to it, hangover or not. He whirled around searching for the attacker, but all he could see was Sokka, who had scrambled to his feet, eyes wide as he gaped at something behind Zuko.

“What—”

Sokka started to run towards the figure in the distance. It was a girl, from the looks of it. She could be dangerous, and they had no idea who she was, or what she wanted, but Sokka was already running towards her—

“Sokka, what—”

“ **SUKI**!”

Sokka launched himself into the open arms of the girl who had most certainly just punched Zuko squarely in the stomach. He was definitely going to be feeling that later on. Having a hangover while getting punched in the stomach was definitely not the best way to start the day. 

“You know her?” Zuko managed to speak.

Were they actually _hugging_ right now?

Sokka’s face journeyed through the range of every possible expression a human could make.

“It’s a long story,” he settled for.

“Hello.” The girl offered a wave. “Name’s Suki.”

She had bobbed brown hair that gleamed slightly golden even with the sun hidden behind a pile of dishwater grey clouds, and a fire in her eyes that burned through her gaze. Her clothes were relatively untorn and clean, but just dusty enough to suggest that she had been sticking around these parts for a while now. She held a bat in her hand, one that she lay proudly to rest over her shoulder. Despite the violent nature of their first meeting, Zuko felt dangerously inclined to trust her. 

“Zuko.”

“Sorry about earlier,” she said. At least she looked mildly apologetic about it. “I had to make sure you weren’t just trying to attack Sokka.”

Zuko’s mind wasn’t clear enough to hide the offense on his face.

Sokka seemed quite elated. He also seemed very quiet, which was either quite worrying or a miracle of the earth itself, but in this case Zuko decided that it was the former. There was a world of disbelief in his eyes as he looked at Suki, shaking his head lightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing right in front of him.

“So, who’s Suki?” Zuko whispered to Sokka. A name he didn’t even recognize didn’t exactly clear things up.

Sokka gave him the most baffled but amazed look.

“Say, what are the chances of running into _both_ our exes in the middle of the apocalypse?”

“So...you guys dated?” Zuko spoke up after a very long moment of silence.

“Yup,” Suki said. She had nothing to be ashamed about when it came to her past relationship with Sokka. “We broke up three years ago.”

“Amicably,” Sokka added. “And then went our separate ways.”

Zuko nodded dumbly, feeling very awkward right about now. 

“What are you doing here?” Sokka turned to Suki. 

“Patrolling,” Suki said. “The other warriors are right over on the other side.”

“ _Warriors_?” Zuko raised an eyebrow. Patrolling?

“You’re all here?” Sokka inhaled.

“Mmhm,” Suki said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

Sokka picked up his bag and scrambled to his feet.

“Sokka? What’s going on?” Zuko asked, incredibly confused.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Sokka replied. He proceeded to grab Zuko’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, _what_ —”

Before Zuko could even utter a word of protest, he was being pulled along by Sokka as they went after Suki, who was much faster than she looked. They ran through the park and over dirty ground with the wind whipping in their hair. Zuko’s thoughts started to slosh around into the walls of his mind, but he couldn’t hold on to any one of them, so he just let the warmth of Sokka’s hand encase his own as he focused on moving his feet and keeping himself from face planting into the ground. Sokka. Holding his hand. Don’t fall. Holy fuck.

“Through here.” Suki looked back, gesturing for them to follow. She ducked under a tarp, and upon closer look Zuko realized it was simply obscuring the entrance into a series of maze-like corridors that weaved between game stalls that had been shifted closer together and propped up with metal barricades and poles. Sokka looked entirely unfazed by any of this as he pressed on, pulling Zuko along with him.

“Where are we going?”

“No idea,” Sokka said, breathless as he continued to run.

They pulled to a stop in front of a wall covered with tattered flyers and water-stained advertisements for stomach antacid and karaoke machines. The paint was peeling in thin strips, and the mold made all the faded colors look warped and disconcerting. Tufts of grass crawled along the bottom of the wall, beside a stream of sludge that Zuko didn’t want to know the origin of.

“Where’d she go?”

“Up here.”

The both of them looked up, only to see Suki peering down at them from a ledge held up by metal beams and shielded by another tarp, hidden just out of view above the wall. In order to get up there, one would have to have a certain degree of agility and strength to get up there. Zuko didn’t know they were adding on parkour and acrobatics to the itinerary, but nothing was impossible anymore. 

Suki reached out to pull Sokka up and onto the ledge. She turned to Zuko next.

“I think I’m good,” Zuko said. Backing up a little for a running start, he jumped, planting both hands onto the dusty top of the wall and propelling himself up onto the ledge with his foot. 

“Impressive,” Suki remarked. 

Zuko brushed his hands on his pants.

“What next?”

Suki smiled, and she turned to walk into the tunnel. 

“Are we not just the least bit concerned here?” Zuko whispered to Sokka.

“C’mon.” Sokka grabbed Zuko’s hand again.

Zuko felt his brain short-circuit.

Desperately ignoring the nervous thrumming of his heart, he walked on. The tunnel was wide, but the ceiling was low. There was a dripping sound that wasn’t exactly reassuring, and the whole place stank of mildew. The floor seemed quite sturdy, but he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he took a wrong step and went plummeting down. Either way, whatever concerns he had about the structural integrity of the place was banished the instant Sokka’s fingers brushed against his palm. 

A warm light in the distance beckoned them towards the exit. 

“Just a little more,” Suki called back.

They emerged into a large space, where the painted canvas ceiling swerved upwards and all manners of rope and wire contraptions hung from the walls. A circle of rows and rows of brick red plastic seats surrounded them with their stunning emptiness, like a dismal flower of abandonment. Flags and posters hung by the doors, their promises of daring acts and miraculous sights rubbed out with time. They were standing on a catwalk, staring down into the ring where the podium once stood tall and proud, but now was a lone martyr of a colorful world long forgotten. 

“The circus,” Zuko breathed, blinking the light out of his eyes.

“It used to be one,” Suki said. 

“Suki!” 

Turns out they were not alone.

Zuko didn’t even see her coming. The girl was already leaping and bounding out of nowhere as she jumped and spun onto the catwalk. Before he could even register that she was there, she was already running towards them, arms floating at her side like she was flying. There was a nimble but confident ease in the way she moved, as if she had captured the wind in her steps and a fire in her lungs.

“Thank fuck you’re safe,” she said, hands landing on Suki’s shoulder.

Zuko couldn’t help the look of surprise on his face when they kissed.

“You say that every time I come back,” Suki chuckled.

“Because I mean it,” Ty Lee said. 

“I can handle a few zombies,” Suki said. Something told Zuko that she meant it, like it was a promise rather than big talk or a foolish hope. 

“And who’s this?” Sokka asked.

“This is Ty Lee,” Suki introduced. “My _girlfriend_.”

Ty Lee offered them a huge, beaming smile. She was charming, and her voice melodious and eager like she always had something to say, but it did nothing to mask the wariness in her eyes. Zuko was sure that she wanted them to see it. 

“Oh!” Sokka smiled. “I don’t remember you being part of the warriors.”

“That’s because I only joined like, four months ago,” Ty Lee explained. 

_But that’s during the apocalypse_ …? Zuko was confused.

“Yeah, she saved us from a rogue zombie attack,” Suki said proudly.

Zuko could hardly imagine Suki being saved by anyone, really. 

“This is Sokka,” Suki introduced. “We used to date.”

“Cool!” Ty Lee beamed and stuck out her hand as if meeting her girlfriend’s ex was the most natural thing in a zombie apocalypse. “Nice to meet you, Sokka.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Sokka said, taking her hand. He was slightly taken aback by her infectious cheerfulness. There was nothing insincere about the way her eyes crinkled and her lips turned. Zuko was watching her very closely. He knew insincerity when he saw it, and she had none. Yet the persistent gleam of wariness in her eyes never went away.

“And who are you?” Ty Lee turned to Zuko.

It was at this moment that Zuko realized he was still very much holding Sokka’s hand. In a moment of panic, he let go of it and pretended to cover a cough.

“I’m Zuko,” he said.

“Zuko,” Ty Lee said, as if she were tasting the name. “Sounds familiar, have we met?”

“I don’t think so.” Zuko looked around. “But I recognize this place.”

“You do?” Sokka and Suki turned to him.

“Yeah,” Zuko swallowed. “I used to come here a lot, when I was still really young. My sister was a big fan of the circus, so she came to watch all their shows as a kid and dragged me along with her. Anyway, this place shut down a few years ago. Rent problems. I didn’t know it was still standing.”

He didn’t have a vivid and cohesive impression of this place, just fragments of memories that had evaded his recollection for years, swimming about in his head and re-emerging in a surreal montage. He had been here before. A lot. He remembered getting in the car, and being forced to go to the circus instead of hanging out with kids his age, just because his sister wanted to. He didn’t really mind. He didn’t have anything better to do anyway. They would drive through the city and through the hills until they came to the outskirts, where the circus would be in town. It was always in town. It wasn’t a travelling circus, and it wasn’t the grandest either, but Zuko quite liked it. He didn’t remember the ringmaster’s face, or the songs they played before the lineup started, but he remembered the warmth. He remembered thinking how amazing circus life seemed to be, how often it planted the thought of escapism into his heart. In a way, the circus had been inspiring. He had considered what it would be like to run away and join the circus. Well, one out of two wasn’t bad.

Ty Lee nodded, a hint of sadness behind her eyes.

“I was a part of the circus. Before it closed down, I mean. So maybe I’ve seen you around.”

“Oh.” Zuko blinked. “So sorry it did.”

“Nah, it’s not your fault,” Ty Lee said. “Bad things happen in life. But so do good things.”

She smiled at Suki, who smiled back.

“Well, do you want to see the rest?” Suki asked. 

Sokka nodded.

They descended from the catwalk and down a series of staircases, the creaks echoing into the air where they swooped down to meet the sounds of chatter and discussion ringing back from the stands. There were maybe about twelve or thirteen of them, and they were all wearing the same dusty shade of green that Suki had on, and headbands of all sorts of colors. The group seemed relatively at ease when they approached, draped over chairs and leaning on each other. Zuko still couldn’t help but feel like he should exercise caution here.

“I’ve brought guests,” Suki announced.

Words of greetings rose up to meet them. 

“You all know Sokka,” she said.

A few of them stood up to greet Sokka, offering him slaps on the back and hugs. 

“And this is Zuko.”

Zuko offered a small, tentative wave. He felt vastly out of place here.

“These are the Kyoshi Warriors,” Suki told him. “We met as a softball team, but now we’re practically family.” 

_The Kyoshi Warriors_. Now that was a team name Zuko would cheer for, if there ever was one.

“Is that why you use bats?” he asked.

“Oh, you mean this?” Suki grabbed the bat off her back and whirled it. Zuko had to admit that it was pretty impressive, even if he didn’t understand the appeal. Everyone found their own way to fight in the apocalypse. There was no wrong or right way to survive. 

“It looks like yours,” Zuko said to Sokka.

“Suki taught me how to play softball,” Sokka replied. “I’m still not as good at it as any of them.”

Zuko started to feel the stares of the warriors getting heavier, as if they were weighing him up. He understood their wariness. He was a stranger to them, after all. He wasn’t Sokka. This was the first time he was seeing them, and he had yet to form an impression about them yet. That was dangerous at times. An impression could be helpful in ascertaining whether someone was friend or foe, and how to act accordingly. Zuko didn’t know much here, but he couldn’t bring himself to form a wayward impression of the warriors. There was something about them that made him feel like it was wrong to simply guess what kind of people they actually were.

“That’s nice,” he said. “I never learnt how to play softball. Or any sport, really.”

“Well, you have all the time in the world to learn now,” Ty Lee remarked.

Zuko blinked. _Time_?

“It’s a fun sport,” Sokka offered. 

_Fun_? 

“All in due time,” Suki said, looking at Zuko and Sokka. “But for now, we’re having breakfast together, you two included. I’m not letting you run around on an empty stomach.”

Zuko’s stomach grumbled. He was so hungry. Somehow, his hangover had gotten worse, and he supposed it was from all the running and the jumping and the excitement of the morning. What did people do to get rid of these things? Drink water? Drink more alcohol? Eat food? Well in that case, they could stick around for breakfast. Sokka looked like he wanted to stick around. 

The walls of the circus tent were much sturdier than Zuko remembered. They weren’t just flimsy like the tarps that fluttered in the wind, they were actual walls, with doors of all kinds, and ladders that led god-knows-where. The ceiling was shrouded in dim shadow, musty from the sun that leaked in through miniscule holes in the canvas. They followed Suki and Ty Lee out of the biggest set of doors—tall double doors that you had to push a bar to open up onto a dusty small road. They walked down and veered right, kicking up dust as the path opened up onto a nice set of steps that descended into a fairly large circle of concrete. There was a dead fountain in the middle—the gray dusted with mold and the metal carvings shiny with rust—and the other warriors moved about surely, preparing what Zuko could only assume was breakfast. A growing part of him was curious about what they were going to eat, but the other part of him was telling him to quell all his questions until he could be certain that he could speak comfortably in their presence. He was still a stranger, an outsider, one who they did not trust. 

“Hey, you can sit down too.” Sokka patted the dry floor beside him.

“Oh.” Zuko sat down. Just like that? 

“How are you feeling?”

“Why are you asking?” Zuko asked, suddenly suspicious.

“You seem a little tense,” Sokka said. “I understand that you may not trust them yet, but it’d be good to relax.”

His eyes were open, as if he was inviting Zuko to trust _him_ instead.

It wasn’t that Zuko didn’t trust the warriors. Well, he didn’t know if he did, but it had more to do with what was to come. He may have been thinking a little too much, but Sokka seemed really comfortable here. More comfortable than Zuko had ever seen him. What if Sokka never wanted to leave? It was crazy how fast Sokka had made Zuko want to stay with him, but he didn’t know if he could stay in one place for too long, especially a place he wasn’t familiar with. He didn’t want to leave Sokka behind. Especially not when they hadn’t even talked about...everything, yet.

“You’re worrying, aren’t you?” Sokka said. 

“How do you know?”

“I can see it,” Sokka huffed. “Your eyebrows freeze and you do that thing with your mouth.”

Zuko stopped pursing his lips. _Dammit_.

“We’ll stay for breakfast,” Sokka said. It was more of an invitation than a command.

“Okay,” Zuko accepted. “Breakfast.”

Rectangular tins of cooked spam and meat were passed around. 

“Beef jerky,” Zuko whispered, as if the tin might fly away any second and he might wake up from this dream. He had not forgotten his perilous journey, the risk he had taken, the things he had endured—all for one packet of salty beef jerky. What could he say? He loved his dehydrated meat. “I’ve missed you. I really have.”

“Are you talking to your food, or am I tripping?” Sokka laughed.

“ _Mmrnrnp_ ,” Zuko murmured through the meat in his mouth.

It only made Sokka laugh even harder.

Zuko couldn’t even be annoyed anymore.

“How’d you guys cook this?” Sokka asked.

“Wood fire,” Suki explained. “We don’t have stoves or ovens here even if we have electricity. There’s a clearing on the beach right over there, and that’s where we set it up.”

 _Electricity_. Zuko couldn’t help but wonder.

“There’s bread too,” Suki said, handing Sokka a loaf. “Campfire bread.”

“Ooh,” Sokka said, biting into a soft but chewy bit of fresh bread off the stick. There was something about it that was just so heavenly. He was vaguely regaled with memories of school camps, where every kid first learned how to make campfire bread. Sokka wasn’t the best at baking bread, but he was pretty good when it came to eating it. Bread was already good when the world wasn’t ending, but it was unbeatable when it came to the apocalypse. There weren’t exactly bakeries standing around waiting for a hapless soul with an insatiable craving for bread to stumble in and feast. Could someone die of bread deprivation? Sokka would be the first.

“Have it with the meat.” Ty Lee leaned in. “It’s transcendental.”

The gasp that came out of Sokka’s mouth earned a few laughs from the circle. Even Zuko couldn’t help being amused. It felt wrong to laugh along with them, but it felt worse not to. Now that they were seated in a circle, he could see the Kyoshi Warriors better now. They seemed to operate as one unit, but there were some distinct faces and voices around the circle. He still had no grasp on any of their names, but he didn’t need to know them anyway. He wasn’t staying. 

“What’s your secret?” Sokka whispered in awe, holding the bread up to the sky.

“Nandi here is the resident master baker,” Suki said, gesturing over to a warrior who had a shaved head and the most assured smile Sokka had ever seen. “They’re very good with pastry too.”

“Pure vanilla extract,” Nandi called back. “Shit lasts forever.”

“I’ll keep that in mind in case I find an oven wandering about out there,” Sokka chuckled.

“I’ve missed your stupid humor.” Nandi tipped their head back and let out a throaty chuckle, as if they had heard something funny that they didn’t understand. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sokka said, his eyes filled with memories. “It’s been a while.”

“Come, come.” Their eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint. “I didn’t make all this bread for the air and the grass to eat.”

The food was delightful. Zuko felt like he could get lost in the delicious array of tastes and smells. Maybe he was just too hungry, but he truly felt like this was a blessing. This food, it was hitting in all the right places. When would he ever get to have a meal like this again? It was almost good enough to forget that he didn’t belong here.

“You seem to be doing better,” Sokka remarked.

“Yeah, I’m never drinking again,” Zuko said. “One hangover is enough to last me the rest of my living days.”

Sokka laughed.

“Slow down before you choke,” Sokka said. 

Zuko made a face at him.

“So,” Ty Lee began, waving her chopsticks around. “How long have you two been together?”

There was this horrible sputtering noise and for a moment Sokka thought the world was ending again, but it was just Zuko choking on his food. 

“See,” Sokka said. 

“Oh.” Ty Lee blinked. “Was it supposed to be kept hush-hush?”

“...It’s a long story,” Sokka settled for.

“ _Yeah_ , you could say that again,” Zuko coughed. He could feel all the blood rushing into his face. Together? They haven’t even talked about it yet. Sure, they kissed, but what did that mean really? He had no idea what Sokka was even thinking or feeling. Was he even ready to talk?

“Glad you found someone too, Sokka,” Suki said.

Zuko didn’t have the heart to correct her.

“Yeah.” Sokka looked at him. “Yeah, I’m glad too.”

Zuko felt his heart jump. 

The sky was a beautiful shade of azure now that the clouds had been carried away on the salty breeze. It was like the horizon had calmed down and so had the ocean, from the sound of the peaceful waves in the distance. Zuko had decided that this place was not so bad after all. It was quieter out here, on the outskirts. The sky was vaster, and the wind stronger. It made him feel a little more free, even if he could never be.

Everybody else seemed to be making easy conversation and eating in comfortable silence. Suki was leaning over to talk to a few younger-looking members, and Ty Lee was telling Sokka about her first softball game. She talked like she was a seasoned storyteller armed with a powerful and captivating legion of arm gestures and a clear, ringing voice, ready to regale an audience of one with grand tales. Sokka was only happy to listen to her stories with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

Zuko found himself starting to relax. Had his shoulders always been this tense? His mind was telling him to stay alert, to be on guard, but something in his gut was telling him to ease up, to relax. He was safe here, with Sokka, and the warriors. Suki had told them about the patrolling system—how they always checked the entrances to the park thrice a day, and how someone was always on watch at the doors. It gave him just the slightest modicum of reassurance to know that everyone here was capable of protecting themselves. He felt much better if he didn’t have to rely on someone else to protect himself, and if someone else didn’t have to rely on him to protect them too. 

“We don’t have much food, but feel free to dig in,” Suki said. “There’s enough for everyone.”

She said it like she meant it. Everyone. Including Zuko. 

“Including you, Zuko.” Suki fired him a meaningful look.

Blinking, he nodded.

“See? You’re worrying,” Sokka said.

“It’s that obvious, huh.”

Sokka gave him a half-smile.

“Is this how you felt like when we met the Freedom Fighters?” 

Sokka paused to think. 

“You know, I don’t think so. I knew I didn’t belong there, and I didn’t want to.”

“Are you saying that I want to belong here?” Zuko asked.

“I’m not saying anything,” Sokka said. “That part’s up to you.”

Zuko went quiet, chewing on a piece of spam.

“What if I don’t want to stay here?” He hated how weak he sounded, how needy. As if he didn’t have a choice, as if he couldn’t just leave on his own. Well, he _couldn’t_ . At least, he didn’t think he could anymore. It was as if the blue of Sokka’s eyes were drawing him deeper and deeper into an ocean of emotions, keeping him captive in its waves as he bobbed about the surface reaching for air. It was like he wanted to swim, it was like he wanted to _drown_.

“Then we’ll go,” Sokka said. Simple as that.

Zuko was gaping. _We’ll_.

“Okay,” he said, unfolding his legs. “Okay.”

He let his neck drop as he looked up to the sky. It seemed bluer than before. The clouds seemed to move slower—thin white wisps crawling across the vast expanse, so out of reach, but they looked so close anyway. Everything felt slower, and easier. They didn’t have to stay. Zuko had the brief and chilling thought that maybe he wanted to. Just for a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I did justice to Suki's and Ty Lee's character, and yes, I'm aware that softball is very gay. 
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	14. The Honorable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars were gorgeous out here, further away from the city. Zuko was tired of a lot of things, but stars? He could never tire of them. There was something so enthralling about something he couldn’t reach, something he couldn’t have, something that dazzled with an otherworldly brilliance so many worlds away—so powerfully bright that even a human like him could have the faintest glimpse of the magnificence of the cosmos. Stars were unattainable, and some twisted part of him thought that made them even more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time they Communicated™.

The stars were gorgeous out here, further away from the city. Zuko was tired of a lot of things, but stars? He could never tire of them. There was something so enthralling about something he couldn’t reach, something he couldn’t have, something that dazzled with an otherworldly brilliance so many worlds away—so powerfully bright that even a human like him could have the faintest glimpse of the magnificence of the cosmos. Stars were unattainable, and some twisted part of him thought that made them even more beautiful.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Sokka breathed. 

Zuko looked over at him. Sokka was clutching another few sticks of campfire bread tightly, as if once he let go they might just fly away into the night sky. He was more relaxed and open now, but Zuko wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t staring so closely. It was in the way his spine had loosened up instead of closing in on itself whenever he sat, and the way he let his fingers fall onto the wood of the pier instead of closing them into fists in his lap.

“Yeah, they are.”

They were back here again.

“So,” Zuko began.

“So.” Sokka nodded.

“We kissed,” Zuko continued.

“We kissed,” Sokka agreed.

“Why?”

Sokka looked at him like he had just grown another head.

“As in...why? We kissed?”

“Yeah,” Zuko said dumbly. “Yes.”

“I don’t know about you, but I kissed you because I wanted to,” Sokka said.

Oh. So it was just a kiss then. 

“And before you go about pouting,” Sokka added. “I only want to kiss people I like.”

Zuko nodded, almost imperceptibly, and then he sat bolt upright.

“People you...like?” 

“Yeah.”

“Like...as a friend?”

Sokka laughed, a loud and ringing one this time. It was a laugh that ricocheted off the calm, rocking waves and past the wooden beams of the pier—an ode to the night. 

“Zuko.” Sokka finally turned to him. “Why are you so stupid?”

That earned him a whack on the shoulder.

“I’m serious!” Sokka laughed. “Is that what you think  _ like _ means?”

“Well, I couldn’t be sure!” Zuko protested. He wasn’t just going to jump to conclusions and give himself false hope, no matter how much he wanted to. 

“Well, then I’m telling you right now,” Sokka said. “I like you, Zuko. More than a friend.”

“How could you just say that?” Zuko spluttered, turning away. 

“Because it’s true!” Sokka’s smile only grew when he saw how red Zuko had become .

“Fuck,” Zuko said. “Fuck.”

Sokka’s smile faltered.

“You kissed me back...right?” Sokka said, dangerously soft. “Unless I was reading it wrongly.”

“No,  _ no _ . You didn’t read anything wrong.” Zuko felt like his head was starting to swim. This was bad. Very bad. Unbelievably bad. “I just, I, everything’s just—”

He made a vague swirling with his hand and pointed to his head.

“Ah,” Sokka said. “It’s okay.”

“It is?”

“Yeah,” Sokka replied. “Take your time.”

What was up with these people and time? Didn’t they realize that there was no such thing as time when the world was fucking ending? Zuko wanted desperately to believe that since he was a survivor, he still had the rest of his life to spend, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Every single day felt like he was constantly fighting and running just to keep his head above the water. He was simply living on borrowed time. How could he spare any to think about things like fun, or sports, or friends, or  _ love _ ?

“Fuck,” Zuko repeated, rubbing his temples. Sokka liked him. Sokka liked him  _ back _ . 

Sokka chewed on his bread in silence. He didn’t look offended, or angry, or disappointed. He just looked thoughtful, staring out onto the black ocean. Zuko could sense the bevy of answers that Sokka was prepared to say once Zuko had given him his own, which only made it even more nerve-wracking. Zuko wanted to know all the answers, but he could only try to say the right one and pray that Sokka didn’t hate him forever. Fuck, he was never good at words. He was never good at things like tact, or holding back his thoughts, or acting out of anything other than instinct and fear. 

“I like you back, Sokka,” Zuko finally got out. “But I can’t.”

It was true. He really did like Sokka, and he had hid way too many embarrassing thoughts about Sokka to even deny the fact that he liked him more than a friend. Not that he knew about friends anyway. Were they friends? Sokka seemed to think so. Zuko supposed that everyone who didn’t try to kill you in the apocalypse was basically a friend anyway. 

“I know you’re looking for an explanation—”

“No, it’s okay,” Sokka said. “I don’t need one.”

Zuko looked at him. He still looked like...Sokka. There was no disappointment or anger or shock. Sokka was still returning his gaze and chewing his bread. Did he understand why? Did he know? If he didn’t, why did he look so nonchalant about it. Did he even care about why Zuko didn’t like him back? Did it really matter? Didn’t the whole point of talking lie in clearing up the confusion, not creating more?

“But I would gladly listen to and accept one,” Sokka said. “If you’re willing to tell me.”

Zuko blinked.

“I can’t like you back,” he repeated. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” Sokka said. “Okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be?” Sokka looked at him with such genuine confusion that Zuko was dying to believe that it was true. There were oceans in those eyes of his, oceans of wonder and oceans of glee and oceans of beautiful thoughts that Zuko could never hope to traverse. There were whole worlds inside Sokka’s eyes, worlds that Zuko felt the pull of, like they were colliding all at once and throwing him around with gravitational force. There were more stars in there than the ones that shone above them.

And Zuko couldn’t have any of them.

He almost wished that Sokka was angrier. Why did he look so calm? Why did he look so resigned? Was this just a little crush that was insignificant enough to push down and forget about? Did he like Zuko enough to fight for it? Did he really like Zuko?

“Then why did you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hide anything from you,” Sokka said. 

“Oh.”

There was a bubbling of insecurity breaching the surface of Zuko’s insides. He had never been in tune with his own feelings, much less the feelings of others, and he was barrelling towards unknown territory here. Sokka was baring his heart to Zuko, and he couldn’t even provide a proper response. If anything, it only proved even further how much he couldn’t like Sokka back.

“I don’t know,” Zuko replied. “I really don’t know. I want to tell you something,  _ anything _ , but I’m not sure what I’m feeling anymore.”

Sokka looked into the distance—out onto the ocean.

“I’m not leaving, Zuko.” The suddenness of Sokka’s declaration almost knocked Zuko right off the pier. “And if you’re leaving, I’m going with you.”

“Why?”

If it was up to Zuko, he would have been long gone before Sokka could even turn around.

“I want to get to know you,” Sokka answered, throwing his hands up like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But I can’t like you back.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t get to know each other, you dumbass,” Sokka snorted. 

Zuko blinked. He knew it should be true, but—

“C’mon.” Sokka stood up and offered Zuko a hand. “Suki promised us a tour.”

Zuko hesitated before grabbing Sokka’s hand. It was warm, just like before—and Zuko might even dare to believe that it might never lose its warmth. He stood up, and all his thoughts vanished into the night and Sokka’s touch—all his thoughts, except for one. It was a dangerous thought, and it was only growing amidst the confusion. He tried desperately to shove the thought to the back of his mind, where it would never see the light of day again, but even then he couldn’t run.

Zuko would follow Sokka anywhere.

And he  _ wanted _ to. 

“What act did you do?” 

Ty Lee’s eyes lit up with a twinkle that scared Zuko. 

“Watch this.”

She bounded up the steps and leapt up onto the tightrope that spanned between two metal perches. Zuko had the vague thought that she looked much like an elegant sort of bird, like a crane or something. He wasn’t good with bird species. There was a decorated defiance in the way she moved on her two bare feet, as if she was sticking her tongue out at gravity and the very physics of the way humans moved. It was a sight, really—just watching Ty Lee go.

Zuko couldn’t deny it. He was impressed.

“It feels good to do that,” Ty Lee remarked. “I always did that as the opening to my act. It’s some sort of ritual I guess. A good luck thing.”

Zuko nodded. 

“What was it like in the circus?” Sokka asked.

While Zuko had a preoccupation against asking personal questions to anybody he wasn’t familiar with, Sokka could not share the same sentiment. It was like he was vying for every opportunity that he could use to find out more about someone else. Zuko had always thought it was because he had an excessive amount of dangerous curiosity to shed, but he might be starting to suspect that Sokka genuinely just wanted to know more about the people around him. That he might even want to know more about Zuko.

“Hectic,” Ty Lee laughed. It was a laugh that told them she knew something that they didn’t, but a laugh that made you want to find out just what you were missing. “But fun. And exciting. And freeing. When you’re up there with all eyes on you and the spotlights swinging and the adrenaline going it just feels like you’re on top of the world. You’re showing everybody what you got. There’s nothing like it.”

She used the word “you’re” as if her experiences were universal. They were not, but there was something about the way she spoke that made Zuko want to believe that they could be. She spoke with a distinct flavor of hope for the future and yearning for the past, and the weirdest thing was Zuko didn’t mind. He had never been one for sentiment, but one look at Ty Lee was enough to shut him up before he could say something cynical or tactless. He didn’t hate sentimental people, even if he didn’t understand.

“I feel the same when I play softball,” Suki chimed in. “It’s just something about doing the things you like and showing the world that you’ve got this.”

Sokka hummed. It was harder to compare his interests on a performative level, but he felt like he could understand. They always portrayed science with the face of a mad scientist holed up in a laboratory, or nerds in a classroom setting cracking books open—but it was so much more than that. It was about creation, and discovery, and he might even say flair. There was a certain flair to the way of science, a certain humanity about it that added that extra kick to coming up with a hypothesis and proving it and making mistakes and finding solutions. 

“I did theatre,” Zuko offered. “So I guess I get it.”

Did he get it? Zuko had enjoyed acting and slipping into a role, pretending to be someone he was not, but maybe he didn’t share the same sense of liberation and catharsis as Suki and Ty Lee when it came to being under the spotlight. He didn’t get stage fright, no, but he was pretty apathetic to the whole “showing the world that you’ve got this” part of it. He always acted for himself, losing himself to the moment and fully immersing himself into the role. He had been criticized for being too “into it”, and forgetting that there were others who were not on the same calibre of immersion as he was. Maybe that’s why he always felt so left out. 

“A fellow performer.” Ty Lee beamed at him. “I’m sure you were great. I’ve always wanted to try acting. We should act together one day.”

Zuko resisted the urge to squish the blossom of warmth in his chest. There couldn’t be one day. Not in the apocalypse. But just this once, he would let the fluttering of hope take over. Maybe they could. It would be nice to share a part of his past.

“Hey, Suki told me you’re pretty good at this stuff,” Ty Lee said. “Come, try something.”

She tugged at Zuko’s sleeve as he followed her haplessly up the metal steps. He wasn’t a circus acrobat, nor was he a trick performer. He was simply a boy who learnt how to fight along the way. He didn’t know what Ty Lee was expecting him to do, but he certainly didn’t like the look of the precariously thin rope that taunted him with its steely glint and the lonely trapeze swings that bobbed slightly in an invisible breeze.

“I’ll show you a demonstration,” Ty Lee said, much to his relief. “I’ll start small and simple.”

She leapt cleanly off the edge and Zuko’s heart tumbled with her for a second, but then she was swinging back up again on the nearest trapeze bar, landing lightly on the other side. 

“That’s small and simple?” Zuko asked, incredulous.

“You can do it, Zuko!” Sokka yelled up from the stands. 

“Yeah! Go for it,” Suki encouraged. 

Their voices sounded so far down below that Zuko was suddenly brought to the sudden awareness of just how high they were. There was a net below that looked sturdy enough to catch his weight, but not sturdy enough to assuage his fears. Now, Zuko wasn’t scared of heights, nor was he scared of falling, but the prospect of trying something so foreign and new  _ while _ he was so high up was not the most soothing thought. And he was being watched. Now that was terrifying.

“Okay,” he said, stepping up to the front of the platform.

Before his brain could stop him, he jumped. It was like his body was moving on its own, as if it knew what to do, as if it had translated all those memories of watching trapeze artists soar through the air all those years ago into something tangible and real. His fingers closed around the bar, as if time had slowed down and he was in control here, and it carried him up, up, and up. Before he knew it, he was landing right beside Ty Lee.

“Woah.” Zuko looked down at his hands. “I did that.”

“You did it!” Ty Lee said. “That was great.”

Suki and Sokka were hollering from the stands.

Zuko’s lip curled upwards. So he did.

“C’mon, again,” Ty Lee beckoned. “Then I’ll show you more stuff.”

Ty Lee showed him a progressive series of moves that he followed with relative ease, and a whole load of terror in his heart. When he was up in the air, he felt like he could finally understand what she was talking about. The freeing feeling of it all. The adrenaline rushing through his body. The sheer thrill of being so high up and letting go. He could fall right now. He could fall and plummet straight down to the earth, and the net would rise up to meet him before he hit the ground. For a huge part of his life, Zuko sought danger. He sought stakes. He was always very quiet about it, but there was nothing quiet about the explosive impulses and recklessness he had once called his. He thought he would outgrow it, but he had breached his teenage years and even then there was still a part of him that lauded himself for taking risks.

Maybe he would never change that part of him, but at least he could channel it into trying new and healthier things. Things that excited him, but didn’t introduce the same damning weight into his heart. Things that didn’t involve crime, blatant betrayals of the heart, and a testy part of his past called Jet. 

Zuko let his thoughts fade away into the dazzling of the spotlights. He was breathing now, and maybe it was just his imagination, but the air up here was so crisp. He was hurtling through the air like a fireball, his hands gripping on tight to the bar. He lifted the lower half of his body and hooked his legs through his arms and onto the bar. With a deep breath, he let go. 

“You’re doing it!” He vaguely registered Ty Lee’s voice drifting in from the distance.

“He’s a natural,” Suki remarked.

“Yeah,” Sokka breathed. He felt like there wasn’t enough air in here, the way his breath was caught in his throat as he stared up at Zuko on the trapeze. It was truly a sight. “He is.”

Sokka had always known Zuko to be tense and restrained, and the only times he got to see Zuko let go were always moments of distress, when he had to focus and survive. There was a stunning power in the way Zuko fought, one that lay in wait when he was still, and shone through when he moved—just like the way he was moving through the air now, his strength keeping him attached to the trapeze. Sokka could see the peaceful look on Zuko’s face all the way from down here, as if all the tense lines had melted off his face. Sokka might be crazy, but Zuko looked like he was finally  _ relaxing _ .

“You like him,” Suki said. 

“That obvious, huh?”

“And he likes you back.” Suki turned to him.

“Jury’s still out on that but,” Sokka said. “But one can hope.”

“It’s been a while, Sokka,” Suki said. “But I haven’t forgotten.”

Sokka turned to her with a poignant look. 

“You’re allowed to care about someone,” Suki continued. “I know how you bottle up your feelings. But just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.”

Suki always knew what to say. Sokka had always felt a sense of comfort when he was with her. She was someone he could trust to be himself around, to be  _ vulnerable _ around. They had grown attuned to each other’s mannerisms in their time together, and in the past that sort of comfort had grown into something tender and fond and romantic. And it was that same comfort that kept their friendship amicable, even when they were apart—because it never did truly go away, even when the romantic feelings had subsided.

“I know.” Sokka smiled. “That’s why I told him.”

“You did?” 

“Don’t look so surprised,” Sokka said, but he couldn’t keep the disbelieving grin off his face either. “It was sudden.”

“How did you manage to do that?”

Suki’s surprise was justified. Sokka had never been one to make the first move when it came to matters of the heart. There was even a point when Sokka had never let what resided in his heart see the light of day. He had been so convinced that emotions were just a burden, something that made him weaker and stupider, that he had never liked to talk about what he felt. It had taken a long time for him to unlearn that, and Suki was there to see the transformation. Even then, it could be hard to remember that this Sokka was different from the distant and detached Sokka that she had first met back in school, the one who used sarcasm and jokes as a cover for his real feelings. 

“I just, it just came to me,” Sokka tried to explain. “I guess I really wanted to.”

“I’m proud of you.” Suki put a hand on his shoulder.

She didn’t press for any more details, and he was glad for that.

Meanwhile, Ty Lee and Zuko had sat down on the edge of the platform for a break. Zuko knew that circus performers harbored a lot of strength and endurance, but now that he had a firsthand taste of how true that was, he was even more impressed. 

“You did good, Zuko.”

He didn’t need Ty Lee’s reassurance, but he was thankful nonetheless.

“Thanks, you’re a good teacher.”

“I just love what I’m doing,” Ty Lee replied. 

“I can see that,” Zuko said. “I respect it.”

Ty Lee grew quiet for a second, and Zuko was worried that he might have said something offensive or rude, but then she spoke again.

“I didn’t use to be in the circus,” she said. 

He looked at her with a questioning eye.

“I was in school,” Ty Lee said. “But I wasn’t very good at it.”

“Sounds like me,” Zuko laughed drily, but then he stopped. He had a bad habit of making things all about him when he had no idea how to talk to someone.

Ty Lee laughed too, a much heartier one than his.

“I kept getting into trouble,” she said. “The teachers were all sick of me.”

Zuko nodded. It sounded very close to home, but he didn’t want to interrupt.

“My parents weren’t exactly the most present,” Ty Lee continued. Zuko wondered if it was the late hour or the nature of the moment, but everything that she said appeared to be deliberate, as if she wanted him to know. An intentional vulnerability, but not in a nefarious way. It was as if she wanted to open up to him, and expected nothing in return. “So there was nobody to keep me in check.”

“How’d you end up here then?”

“I ran away,” Ty Lee said. “Came all the way here to find something new and never left since.”

Zuko looked at her with wide eyes.

“I ran away from home too,” Zuko said. 

“No way.” Ty Lee grinned, an entirely mismatched expression to the nature of their conversation. 

“Yeah.” Zuko leaned back on his hands. “Couldn’t stand it at home.”

“Me neither,” Ty Lee admitted. “Felt like there was so much more out there in the world I could be doing, so I left.”

Zuko was pleasantly taken aback. He had almost forgotten how different people could be from his first impressions and personal misjudgements. Ty Lee was an enigma to him, but there was an uneasy parallel between them that even he was aware of. It was like there was a sudden connection between them, an air of ease and empathy—an aligning of the past and present. 

“You’re not together, aren’t you?” Ty Lee asked, nodding towards Sokka.

“Nope.”

“Sorry for assuming.” Ty Lee winced. “That was a mistake on my part.”

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Zuko couldn’t say anymore without betraying the soft tone in his voice every time he spoke about Sokka. He had been trying to push every thought about Sokka liking him out of his mind. He didn’t want to think about it yet. He would unearth it later when he was alone and sleepy, when he wasn’t awake enough to fight himself on his thoughts.

“But you two like each other, right?”

“I’m not sure,” Zuko admitted.

“Well, I think you do,” Ty Lee said with such confidence that it sounded like she believed in them more than Zuko did.

Zuko looked down at where Sokka and Suki were sitting. They looked to be talking. It was weird knowing that he would never be a part of Sokka’s past, but that wasn’t the only part that unsettled him. Would he ever be a part of Sokka’s future? He didn’t have enough courage to hope.

This was stupid. He felt like he was back in high school all over again with a hopeless crush. No, not a crush. He didn’t want it to just be a crush. Zuko didn’t do crushes. Not anymore. Yet he was certain that it was just the mushy feeling inside him that was telling him that he could stay and do it all over again with someone new. With Sokka. Soon it might go away and he could forget this ever happened. Yeah, maybe it would be better if it was just a crush.

“So, you used to frequent the circus?” 

Zuko was glad for the diversion.

“Yeah, with my sister.”

Azula had always been the precocious one, which meant that she got away with a lot of things. For most of his life, Zuko didn’t really mind that, and he was okay with playing along to her whims and demands—and that included coming to the circus with her.

“Sometimes I think Azula hated me for being so happy about following her, but I guess I liked the circus more than I thought.”

“...Azula?” Ty Lee’s eyes widened. “Wait a second, you’re  _ that _ Zuko?”

“What do you mean ‘ _ that _ Zuko’?”

Ty Lee ducked her head. 

“Zuko isn’t exactly a common name, you know.”

“I know, I just didn’t make the connection...I didn’t think—” Ty Lee cut herself off.

“Did you know Azula?”

“Not exactly,” Ty Lee said, softly. A light blush colored her cheeks. “But I wanted to.”

“Oh.” Zuko blinked. “ _ Oh _ .”

Ty Lee smiled sheepishly.

“Small world,” Zuko could only say to encapsulate his bafflement.

“Do you know what happened to her…?” Ty Lee’s reluctance did not go unmissed.

“No,” Zuko opted for. Ambiguity was kinder. He didn’t want to tell her that he had gone back for Azula, that he had searched the house and found no evidence that pointed to whether she was alive or not. He had confidence that his sister was spiteful enough to carve out her survival in this post-apocalyptic landscape, but he was an equally firm believer of misfortune. 

Ty Lee swallowed and nodded.

“Yo!” Sokka called out from below. “How’s the weather up there?”

Ty Lee laughed suddenly.

“He is quite funny, isn’t he?”

“He can be annoying at times,” Zuko countered.

“Annoyance can be a form of endearment,” Ty Lee offered.

Zuko raised an eyebrow. She sounded like she was speaking from experience.

“Well, what about you and Suki then?” He figured out that now was as good a time to assuage his curiosity as any other. 

“I like Suki a lot,” Ty Lee said, open and unabashed. “And she likes me back. It’s the apocalypse, and nobody was going to care about who’s kissing who, so we got together. Not a long story really.”

“Huh,” Zuko said. He didn’t know what he was expecting. Could that be him and Sokka? He looked down at Sokka and his heart skipped a beat. No, no,  _ no _ , hope was dangerous. 

“Give it time, Zuko,” Ty Lee advised. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

For once, Zuko didn’t let the scathing thoughts that told him he was running out of time take over his mind. Looking at Sokka and the content smile on his face, Zuko decided that he would wait. He would be patient. He wouldn’t rush to decisions. 

Maybe he would give it time. Maybe he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I greatly enjoy writing Zuko and Ty Lee's interactions. I feel like Ty Lee is typically archetyped to be a goody-two-shoes, follows the whims of others, all smile no grit sorta character, but I enjoy fleshing out all the layers of her backstory, and the "uneasy parallel" between her and Zuko only serves to emphasize how similar yet different they are and ultimately contributes to the whole backstory. Also, the presence of Suki means that we get glimpses of how Sokka was like in the past and how different he is now and how far he's come.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	15. The Plunge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you wish things could go back to the way they were before?” Sokka asked.  
> Zuko thought about it.  
> “I wouldn’t have met you if they were,” he whispered, as if he was afraid that Sokka might hear him. “So maybe not.”  
> Sokka blinked, taken off guard.  
> “Hey, I’m glad I met you too.”  
> “Yeah?”  
> “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stage whispers* and there was only one tent.

It was a week after they had left.

Sokka had said his goodbyes—sentimental but firm, as if he looked forward to the day when he could cross paths with Suki and the warriors again.  _ When _ , not if. For a brief flickering of warmth in a moment that wasn’t his, Zuko almost wished that he could feel the same way about goodbyes. He felt like an outsider watching the farewells and the hugs and the jokes, simply looking in from the outside, catching a glimpse into a world he felt great turmoil about.

“Where to?” Sokka had asked.

“Wherever you’re going,” Zuko had replied.

They had found themselves traversing the abandoned park, clambering back up onto the deserted stretch of road with the rising sun on their backs. Sokka had slipped somewhere along the way, but Zuko had reached out his hand to grab Sokka’s before he could stop himself. Holding onto each other, they had walked the entire length of the highway that stretched around the hill, alighting at a pleasant and slightly-sloped clearing of grass hidden behind an outcrop of soil and rock. There were trees and grass and no zombies, so they had decided to camp there for the time being—before deciding where to go next.

“Hey,” Zuko had spoken up, awkwardly.

“Yes?” 

“You didn’t have to leave with me.”

“I know,” Sokka said. “But I chose to.”

Zuko was shocked. He had been so worried about influencing Sokka or leading him astray that he hadn’t yet considered the possibility that Sokka had  _ chosen _ this. He had chosen to follow Zuko. He had chosen to leave with Zuko. He had chosen Zuko. 

“Why?”

And Zuko couldn’t even bring himself to like Sokka back.

“Because I want to.”

“Oh.” Zuko blinked.

They had pitched a tent—a gift courtesy of one Suki—an upgrade from just lying on the grass and being exposed to the elements. For someone who’s never camped out in the wilderness, Sokka sure did figure out how to get the tent poles in the ground pretty fast. Before long, they had a workable tent. It was then that Zuko had a sudden flash of panic. They were going to have to sleep in the same tent, in that small and cramped space and such close proximity,  _ together _ . Oh god. How would he ever survive?

“Ooh.” Sokka pulled a packet out of the backpack. “More beef jerky.”

“Fantastic.” Zuko’s eyes lit up, momentarily forgetting his panic.

They sat down facing across from each other, tearing open the packet and splitting up the food between them. Even though Zuko didn’t exactly tell Sokka that he felt the same way, he still felt like Sokka was treating him as if he had. It made a pinprick of guilt in his hole of a heart, one that clung on and grew a little every time Sokka so much as talked to him or looked his way. He was guilty, but not only because of what he didn’t tell Sokka. He was guilty of betraying his own feelings. It was imminent in the way he caught himself staring at Sokka, and the way he let Sokka take his share of the meat first, and the way he couldn’t help but laugh at all Sokka’s stupid jokes. His own feelings were getting harder and harder to suppress, and he wasn’t doing anything about it.

They sat and talked, lying down on the grass and staring up at the clouds roving past overhead. Sokka pointed out some cloud types, and Zuko responded by pointing out weird and random shapes in the fluffy white wisps. They had an argument about whether one looked like a sheep or a fish that was never resolved. Then they talked about the merits of wireless earphones, which led to a discussion on music genres and a good deal of nostalgia about music taste. They descended into a palpable silence when they realized that they might never get to listen to new music again. 

“No music,” Sokka said to break the silence.

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.” Sokka fumbled around in his bag trying to fish something out. It was something white and round and awfully familiar.  _ Sokka’s noise-cancelling devices _ . “Guess I can’t use these anymore.”

“Why not?”

“No electricity. No Bluetooth.”

“Ah.”

Sokka gazed at the device in his hand longingly. Sadly. It was a ghost now, a ghost of what could have been. The crux of all his fallen potential. An exploded supernova of humanity’s last. It could’ve been the start of something, and the end of another. He couldn’t help but think back to the hotel room. Would things have turned out differently if only he had dared to leave on his own?

Zuko looked at him from the side. Sometimes he had forgotten how incredibly and dangerously clever Sokka could be. It was lethal, having a mind like that—coupled with the undeniable and innate sense of curiosity that Zuko thought he’d be repulsed by. It was scary sometimes, how he had forgotten that this was Sokka he was talking about. The Sokka back in that hotel. The Sokka that had lived a whole other life before this one. The Sokka that had made all these inventions and asked all those questions.  _ That _ Sokka.

“Look, the sun’s going down.”

They watched the sunset together, cracking open a can of tuna to go with the bread they packed. Zuko wasn’t the biggest fan of fish, but he had started to develop a taste specifically for canned tuna. The apocalypse truly did weird things to your head. Sokka thought it was quite funny.

“It’s strange being back here again.”

“Right, you lived nearby,” Sokka said.

“Yeah _. _ Right beside this hill. This whole stretch of grass was my backyard.”

Sokka craned his neck, as if once he looked long and far enough he could see the red roof of Zuko’s old house peeking out from all the trees and grass and rock.

“Do you wish you could go back and see it?”

“Sometimes,” Zuko admitted. “But it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“Ah.”

“Left behind my old self in that house and all that philosophical bullshit.”

Sokka could only nod. He didn’t know if he would ever see his own home again. He would jump at any chance to, but chances were hard to come by when you were on the other side of the planet.

“Maybe one day,” Zuko said softly, almost as if he was making a promise to himself. 

Sokka looked at him, and if Zuko had looked back, he would probably have been embarrassed with how much longing he held in his eyes. 

“Did you ever come up here?”

“I think my father would’ve thrown a fit if he knew,” Zuko chuckled. “But of course I did.”

“Your family sounds like a hoot,” Sokka remarked.

“Yeah, feels wrong to miss them.”

“There’s a difference between missing them and wanting to go back,” Sokka offered.

“Hm, you’re right.”

Zuko gazed off into the distance with a soft sigh, leaning on his palms.

“You seem to have a lot on your mind.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Zuko said.

“Shocking,” Sokka snorted.

“That was cold.”

“Sorry, force of habit,” Sokka coughed. “What are you thinking about?”

“The Freedom Fighters.” Zuko stared out onto the quickly reddening sky, painted glorious hues by the setting sun as it spread darkness out onto the land, doling out its last waves of light.

“What about them?”

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” Zuko said. “But I guess it’s something to do with the zombies.”

“I see,” Sokka said, waiting for him to continue.

“Is it right?” Zuko asked—a question addressed to no one in particular.

“It’s cruel,” Sokka commented. It was more of an observation rather than a judgement. “When there’s no society around to govern our actions, it’s up to the individual to decide if and when cruelty is necessary. That’s what I think, at least. Everyone’s fighting for themselves. Nobody gets to say what’s right and what’s wrong anymore, but that doesn’t stop us from trying.”

“Okay, political science major,” Zuko snorted.

“I actually majored in engineering, but political science is one of my interests too.”

“I’m just joking,” Zuko said, pausing. “That’s cool too.”

Sokka looked out onto the sunset, sighing so softly that Zuko wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been listening so closely.

“What do you think?” Zuko asked quietly. “Personally.”

“I think it depends,” Sokka said. “It always does. But all I can say is that there are few things that would justify cruelty.”

Zuko nodded. He supposed that was true.

“I don’t like cruel people,” Sokka admitted. “But I try to keep an open mind.”

Zuko looked at him. There was a story there that he wouldn’t ask about today.

“Jet had always been angry,” Zuko said. “But  _ cruel _ ? I don’t know.”

Sokka was quiet.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Zuko said. “I left anyway. I’m not one of them.”

“I know,” Sokka said. “I know you’re not.”

He had said it with such conviction that Zuko couldn’t help but stare.

“I believe that you’re not like them,” Sokka continued. “You’re not cruel, Zuko.”

Zuko paused.

“You’re not weak either for not wanting to torture them. If you think it’s cruel, then there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to partake in it.”

Zuko turned to him, eyes wide. He hadn’t been expecting Sokka to notice. 

“Thanks, Sokka. I hope so.”

The sun was halfway below the horizon now, dipping behind the skyscrapers and hiding among the trees that grew in the woodlands a distance away from the hill. Half the land was covered in light, and the other half, darkness. Zuko stared out onto the land, digesting Sokka’s words.

“Things are so different now.”

“Do you wish things could go back to the way they were before?” Sokka asked.

Zuko thought about it. 

“I wouldn’t have met you if they were,” he whispered, as if he was afraid that Sokka might hear him. “So maybe not.”

Sokka blinked, taken off guard.

“Hey, I’m glad I met you too.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

Zuko looked up at Sokka. His cheeks were rosy against the dying sun, a sheen of sweat shining across his neck. There was that thoughtful look again, one that made Zuko’s heart beat faster and faster and he would never understand why. He thought back to Sokka’s confession, and his own lack of response. Did that mean they couldn’t kiss again now? He would very much like to, but he’d rather fling himself off the side of the hill than admit it.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m just saying what I feel.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thanking you for.”

Sokka gave him a look.

“You’re pretty strange yourself.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment,” Zuko said.

“Good.”

When night fell, Zuko’s panic returned. Sokka stepped into the tent with a definite nonchalance, motioning for Zuko to come in too. With the most tentative of steps, Zuko had found himself lying down to rest on the floor of the tent right next to Sokka, staring at the dark blue material above him.

“Are you just going to sleep?” 

“If you’ve got any ideas on what else we can do, I’m all ears,” Sokka said.

There was a silence that stretched between them.

“I think I’m just going to sleep,” Zuko replied.

“Me too then,” Sokka said.

They lapsed into another period of silence. Zuko felt a tension collecting in his limbs, like he couldn’t relax and fall asleep when he was so wary of the warmth on his left. It took him a great deal of effort just to dare to shift about in an attempt to release the stiffness in his back, but every time he brushed against Sokka’s right arm it was like a jolt that fried all his nerves and made him even more tense. He was disproportionately aware of how loud his breathing was.

“I’m not asleep yet,” Sokka mumbled. “You don’t have to be so careful.”

Zuko froze. 

“You’re not gonna get any sleep at this rate.”

Sokka made a point of turning onto his side to face Zuko.

Zuko could feel his entire face heat up with the force of a thousand suns. Before he could even make a peep, or cycle through the appearances of his conscious mortification, Sokka slung an arm over his waist—essentially  _ killing _ Zuko in the process.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Zuko was officially dead.

“Great,” Sokka’s reply came. “Now we can sleep.”

Zuko had idea how he was going to manage that.

Feeling Zuko stiffen up again, Sokka reached out a hand to turn Zuko towards him such that they were facing each other in the dark. He could barely see Zuko’s face, but he could feel the weight of his widened eyes on him. 

“Zuko.” 

“Hm?” Zuko couldn’t even trust himself to speak.

“Relax.”

It was a long while before Zuko actually let go of his shoulders and unclenched his jaw. He found himself easing slowly and awkwardly into Sokka’s touch. Just like many other things, Zuko had a complicated relationship with touch.  _ Affection _ . It was jarring, and foreign—the sort of tenderness and gentle warmth that Sokka was showing right now. But it was also inviting, and he found himself gravitating towards it—like a moth to a flame that would consume it entirely in its soothing warmth.

“Are you sure this is okay?”

Zuko nodded, hoping that it was enough to communicate his sentiment. 

“Okay.”

Sokka shifted, and nestled his face against the side of Zuko’s shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Zuko.”

“Goodnight,” Zuko said, narrowly avoiding choking on his own spit. Could Sokka hear the erratic beating of his heart? Probably. He was close enough.

There was a strange feeling resting in his chest as he felt time slip away around them and the lolling of Sokka’s head on his shoulder. It wasn’t a bad feeling, and it might even be good. There was no rush or thrumming or flashes or errant beatings of the heart anymore. It was quiet, and one might even call it peaceful.

Was this what they called  _ contentment _ ?

Zuko had never been good at identifying his own emotions, but he dared say that he might be feeling content. He dared to think that contentment lay in watching Sokka slowly fall asleep against his side, that it lay in the weight of Sokka’s arm around him, that it lay in the way he felt the tension melt away from his bones. Maybe it was. Maybe he could believe that.

Zuko closed his eyes and let himself drift off into the quiet, comfortable darkness.

They would talk in the morning.

It was the sun that woke Zuko first. 

The tent was becoming unbearably warm, his clothes sticky against his skin. He sat up in a daze, feeling disoriented as he looked around. Fragments and pieces of his dream from last night swam about his head. Huh. He hadn’t dreamt in months. What time was it? Had he been asleep for that long? He had to get out of here, before the zombies—

_ Sokka _ .

Where was Sokka?

Zuko stilled, a chill shooting up his spine. He looked around. The space next to him was glaringly empty, the floor of the tent having been smoothed over. No makeshift pillow. No quiet snoring. No mop of soft, messy hair. It was as if Sokka had  _ never been there at all _ .

Alarm bells were ringing in his head. 

He scrambled to his feet, elbowing the side of the all-too-small tent in his bid to get out. The churning in his stomach wasn’t telling him good things, and everything was too bright and too muffled. He stumbled out through the tent flap, swinging wildly around. The hangover had gone away, but it was replaced by a very heavy sense of dread that spread into his limbs and paralyzed his rational thought processes. Something was very wrong here.

Sokka wasn’t outside either.

“ _ Sokka _ ?”

No response.

He tried again.

“Sokka!”

The sounds of distant birdsong and rustling leaves greeted him. Still no sign of Sokka.

Zuko ran around the back of the tent, the worst images running through his mind.

His heart dropped.

It was gone. Sokka’s backpack was gone. All that was left standing was his own backpack, sadly fallen on its side without another to prop it up, the contents spilling out from the inside.

Zuko fell to the ground, his knees buckling under the weight of his shock. Everything was tightening around him, like the air was buzzing angrily in his ears and there wasn’t enough oxygen to breathe and it was all closing in on him.

The truth had come for him.

_ He left _ .

Sokka had left him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it begins.
> 
> This is a reminder that this story is already finished and author is just dragging it out to give the illusion of beating the ao3 algorithm and get more views.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	16. The Slow Crawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walls were a pale, unassuming shade of gray—a singular poster on the far wall displaying minimalistic but colorful art of a film that Sokka did not recognize. The windows had been equipped, the weak light filtering in between the slats of the half-drawn blinds. The bed had been made, and the pillows propped up against the headboard with an angry sort of finality, the blanket folded aggressively until the corners were sharp and definite. Sokka threw the wardrobe open only to be greeted by an impressive array of clothes, but they were all modestly tucked away on wire hangers, as if they wished to retreat into the cool darkness of the closet.   
> Sokka had a feeling that this was it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sokka, sokka, sokka.

The houses were deserted, fossils of forgotten abundance and useless wealth that stood lonely in the light of the rising sun. They weren’t too close together, spaced out by acres and acres of gentle slopes and slouching trees, deceptively easy in the dim morning haze. Sokka looked out for the one with three stories—just like Zuko had told him. It was the closest one to the hill—thank god—and he slowly inched his way down the dew-slick and grassy hillside, crossing a fairly pleasant field of grass to get there.

It’s been a while since he’s seen a morning like this—out here, with nobody around, away from the confines of a city and the safety of skyscrapers. Sokka was hardly a morning person, no. In fact, he was the epitome of a night owl. Years of staying up and staring at screens had made certain of that. Maybe that was why he was always shocked by how nice mornings could be, and maybe that was why he was standing in the middle of this huge field staring into the distance, where the sky was starting to take on a bluish tint.

It was going to be dawn soon. He had to hurry. 

He reached the side of the three-storey house. So, this was where Zuko grew up. The thought of it was strange and fascinating to Sokka. He was seeing an artifact of Zuko’s past—a past he could never be a part of. Sokka had never been one to hang onto the past, but he had always been needlessly fascinated with the concept of being able to catch even a glimpse into someone else’s personal history. It was a whole other world that could usually only be accessed by word of mouth and fond or poignant recollections of the past—so to be able to see this relic in person was monumental to him.

He pressed a hand up to the windowsill, the large arched windows afforded him a view into the dim expanse of halted domesticity that lay within the confines of the house, the insides a deep and foreboding brown that was a far cry from the untainted and perfect cream walls outside and the bold but reclusive red of the shingled roof high overhead. One might have even described the house as welcoming on the outside, but only to those who had something to hide. It was hard to imagine that anyone ever lived here, even before the wave had struck. Nothing looked out of place—not even the decay, not even the overgrown clusters of grass, not even the pervasive air of stagnation that hung around the house like a morbid wreath.

How would he get in?

Sokka walked around to the front, where the heavy oak door sat shiny and polished, guardian of a world left in the past. There was a brass knocker, an anachronistic feature to an otherwise modern house, which really made him wonder about the kind of people who lived here with Zuko. He had mentioned his father a few times now, and his sister, but Sokka thought it rude to speculate, even on his own.

He tried the handle, but of course it didn’t budge. 

He looked around. The flat and heavy stone lying by his feet was looking very tempting now. He thought it through. On one hand, there was nobody around to miss a broken window, but on the other hand,  _ zombies _ . He was way out here, quite a distance away from the city, but one could never be too sure about these sort of things.

_ Hm _ , it was a risk worth taking.

Sokka winced at the jarring sound of shattering glass. It was a beautiful window, and a part of him was screaming at the idea of desecrating something that had withstood the trial of time, but he decided to press on instead. With immense care not to cut himself, he hoisted himself through the hole in the glass, just big enough for him to fit through without losing a limb. The instant he was in, he was careful with his steps, just in case any loose shards of glass found their way into his feet.

He breathed in the cool morning air. 

He was really here.

The place looked like something straight out of a furniture store catalogue—perfectly arranged, like someone was trying to build the perfect model home for a family of four, but was haunted by a shallow understanding of what an actual home was supposed to be like. The carpeting was pleasantly soft, so soft that it made Sokka feel like his very steps were offensive to its luxuriously woven surface. The tiled floor was cool and clean, and the furniture stood valiantly in the absence of its owners. Everything on the coffee table stood in neat stacks—as if someone had tried to complete a puzzle piece with no inkling of the instructions—and even the cushions sat obediently on the sofa, plush round faces staring back lifelessly at him. The indents in the wall told of photos and paintings that have been removed from the house—as if there was something that couldn’t bear to be seen, even when there was nobody around. It would have been a welcoming place, were it not for the very sinister air that pervaded the bones of the house, as if it was all just to cover up something lurking from the past. 

Sokka padded up the staircase, the banister heavy and sturdy under his palm. There were more windows on the second floor, and he could see the field from up here and the hill in the distance. The sky was truly blue now, the white of the clouds carved into a dark azure that was quickly gaining light. What a beautiful morning it was to be breaking and entering. Still not one of the strangest mornings he’s ever had.

Now where was it?

He crossed the long corridor, entering the first bedroom he saw. It was relatively normal, much more so than the rest of the house. The walls here were a curious shade of white, striking against the black of the bedframe and the mahogany of the bedside drawer. There were no pictures on the wall here either, and the window had been thrown wide open to the wind. The cupboards and wardrobe had been locked shut, even if they taunted Sokka to look inside. The bed was not made, the pillows having fallen somewhere between the bed and the wall, and the sheets had been rumpled as if someone had just got out of them recently—and somehow that was more out of the place than the angry scratch marks in the wood of the door and the scuff marks on the wall. It sent a chill shuddering up Sokka’s spine, the thought that he may not be alone in this house. 

This room was not the one, even if it was trying to be.

He moved out of the room into the one across the hall. 

The walls were a pale, unassuming shade of gray—a singular poster on the far wall displaying minimalistic but colorful art of a film that Sokka did not recognize. The windows had been equipped, the weak light filtering in between the slats of the half-drawn blinds. The bed had been made, and the pillows propped up against the headboard with an angry sort of finality, the blanket folded aggressively until the corners were sharp and definite. Sokka threw the wardrobe open only to be greeted by an impressive array of clothes, but they were all modestly tucked away on wire hangers, as if they wished to retreat into the cool darkness of the closet. 

Sokka had a feeling that this was  _ it _ .

There were boxes under the bed. That was where his search would begin. He pressed himself closer to the floor and pulled out the plastic boxes one by one, rummaging through the contents with a gentle determination. He was pleasantly shocked to see what was in them. 

The first contained stuffed toys, loads of them. All of them squished together and forced under the lid that barely hid the faded colors of their furs and feathers and buttons and eyes. Sokka held a toy elephant to his chest. It was perfectly taken care of, not a thread out of place, but the resignation in its round, beady eyes filled him with an explainable sort of poignancy. The second box contained a pile of worksheets and textbooks. With one glance at the neat handwriting, Sokka decided that the controlled and intentional cursive of every letter and number was unexpectedly fitting. The third one was filled with flyers and posters, ones that detailed events and parades and gatherings, tainted with a sense of longing. 

These must be what Zuko couldn’t take with him when he ran.

Yet these were not what Sokka came here for.

It was not under the bed. Where was the next place someone like Zuko would keep it? He thought for a while, spinning on his heel in the unmoving, dusty air of the bedroom. With a careful three steps towards the nightstand, he pulled open the second drawer—the one most in reach from the bed. There was a sea of crumpled paper balls inside, but he wasn’t discouraged. Sticking his hand into the paper mess, he rooted around. His efforts were rewarded when he wrapped his fingers around a flat, green box. He peeled off the lid carefully and peered inside.

Photos. Lots of them. He had found it!

Sokka felt like rejoicing, but he had no time for that. The sun was rising soon, and so would Zuko. He looked down at the box in his hands. Would Zuko want to be reminded of the past? What if he was lying to himself and this was just a wayward and selfish notion of his to win over Zuko’s affections? Was this all just a mistake? What if this drove Zuko further away from him? What if Zuko never wanted to talk to him again?  _ Great, Sokka. What a fantastic time to be overthinking about— _

He heard the crash before he felt the pain.

Sokka was knocked over, shoulder knocking jarringly into the corner of the nightstand as he went tumbling down, his knee screaming as it hit the floor. The box of photos went flying, landing a few metres away as he struggled and kicked against the zombie. Its jaws were barely inches away from his face, and he was pretty sure he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear it over the ugly snarling and groaning of the zombie right in front of him. His entire arm hurt, but he couldn’t afford to stop pushing against the decaying shoulders of the zombie, trying to get it as far away from him as possible as he tried to find something to pull him up. He had to get off the ground, or else he’d be dead in seconds. 

Grabbing the bed frame, he kicked at the zombie’s face, heel connecting with rotten teeth. With tremendous effort, he pulled himself onto the bed, wincing at the pain as he jumped back down onto the zombie, trying to wrestle it into submission. It looked old and frail, as if it was already close to death before being thrust into this undead state, but it was still screaming with a vengeance—as if becoming a zombie had dredged up the worst of its anger when it was alive, as if it was filled with an inhuman anger for being undead. It was bucking and struggling, but Sokka had it down for good. Praying that the zombie wasn’t one of the occupants of this house, he slammed his boot into its skull a few times, crushing the bone with a sickening crunch.

The zombie went limp.

Sokka slid to the floor. He tried to stand, but pain exploded through his knee. It felt bad,  _ really _ bad. He crawled over to the box. It looked relatively intact, even if some of the photos had fallen out. He placed them gently back into the box, and replaced it in his bag.  _ Phew _ . There was a lingering pain in his limbs, but at least he was alive. He had to go now, before that changed.

Zuko would be wondering where he was. 

He limped to the door. It was slightly ajar. It would take him a while to get back, to walk all the way with his knee like that, but he had to go back  _ now _ or—

Sokka nearly shrieked when he pushed the door open. There were more zombies in the corridor. He pushed it shut, turning the lock with as much silence as he could possibly muster while his heart was screaming in his chest.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself. “Fuck.”

This was not good. 

_ He was trapped _ .

Zuko had waited. 

He had sat down, trying to reason with his own worries. Sokka was just taking a bathroom break. When ten minutes had passed, he tried another angle. Sokka was just searching for food. Maybe he had a taste for wild berries or insects or whatever survivalists had in the wild instead of the canned tuna that they had shared the night before. Ten minutes turned into an hour, and Zuko started to get restless. He had started picking at the skin around his lips again, a nervous habit he had always been unable to shake. Even when the hour turned into hours, the thought still hadn’t left his head.

_ Where could Sokka possibly have gone? _

He had taken his bag with him. He had intended to leave. He was so eager to leave that he didn’t even take any of the food with him. Hadn’t even bothered leaving a note or something. 

Sokka was gone, just like that.

Zuko sank to the ground. He didn’t understand. Sokka had kissed him—he had been the one to make the first move. He had been the one to confess. He had been the one to admit that he  _ liked  _ Zuko. 

And for a hot second, Zuko actually believed him.

Zuko shook his head. He couldn’t say that. Maybe Sokka had really liked him, truly actually genuinely liked him. Liked liked him. This was all his fault, wasn’t it? He should’ve given Sokka an answer, Sokka deserved that much at least. Fuck, all he did was say what he couldn’t and shouldn’t. He could only imagine how devastated Sokka must have been. Was he trying to hide his disappointment for Zuko’s sake? Was he already planning on leaving back then on the pier? Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .

Zuko’s head hurt.

The campsite was still empty, the sun beating mercilessly down on his lone self.

He didn’t want to accept it. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Sokka wouldn’t just leave him, right? He had said all those things, all those promises and declarations coupled with those hearty, stupid laughs and twinkling eyes and everything that made Zuko’s world beautiful. He said that he wasn’t leaving, that he wasn’t going anywhere. He had said it. Zuko had heard it with his own two ears. He had heard those words, those devastatingly words that rekindled something he hadn’t known in a long time: hope. He had heard Sokka say it while staring into those sea-blue eyes of his, with the stars shining above them, like they were shining  _ for _ them. He had fallen asleep to those very words, playing like a soothing lullaby over and over again in his head.

Now, those words were just an empty promise.

Zuko had always been good with surviving on his own. He wasn’t a know-it-all like Sokka, neither did he possess a lot of knowledge—but he knew enough. He knew enough to fight, he knew enough to keep himself alive, he knew enough to get by. 

Then why did he feel so  _ lost _ ?

He grabbed the backpack and left. There was no sense in taking the tent. It’d only remind him of Sokka. Of what they did. He could still feel the lingering warmth from Sokka’s arm draped around his midsection, and it chilled him to the very bone. He wanted to believe that Sokka meant what he said, but somehow it only hurt more. 

Zuko ran. He ran and ran and ran. He didn’t know where he was going, as long as he was running somewhere far, far away from there. The wind whipped in his lungs, scratching raw down his throat as the weight bore down on his shoulders. 

Why didn’t he say anything?

His boots hit the hard, rock-speckled dirt of the path that swerved sharply away from the hill.  _ Thud _ .  _ Thud _ .  _ Thud _ . Where should he go now? Why didn’t he know? There was a hard, keening pain in his chest that started to suffocate him from the inside, until he was gasping and choking on his own breath.

Still, he kept running.

He didn’t stop until he hit a fork in the road—on the precipice at the end of the world. The city loomed ahead in the distance, the blue sky more foreboding than Zuko could ever imagine it to be. He had made a lot of mistakes. Especially when it came to people. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to blame Sokka. He could never be angry at Sokka. 

He would leave himself too if he could.

“ _ Zuko _ !”

He snapped out of his trance. Could it be?

“Zuko!”

_ Wait _ . 

“Zuko, stop fucking running for a second!”

_ No _ . That wasn’t Sokka.

He whipped around only to see Jet trying to keep up, thudding across the dirt road towards him.

“What the hell are you running from?”

“None of your business,” Zuko snapped. 

Jet looked concerned for him for the splittest second, and it only served to worsen Zuko’s mood. 

“Where’s Sokka?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Jet frowned. 

“Look, I think you should sit down.”

“Stop fucking telling me what to do, Jet!” Zuko brushed him off, panting and seething.

“Hey, hey,” Jet said, pulling back and holding his hands up for Zuko to see. “Are you okay?”

Zuko didn’t understand. He didn’t understand anything. The confusion and dizziness and hurt thumping around his head was getting heavier and heavier, louder and louder. The world around him was spinning, the sky so blue it was searing into his head, branding his thoughts with Sokka, Sokka, and Sokka. He couldn’t see straight anymore, his vision fading in and out of focus.

“I’m fine—”

Zuko swallowed, hard lump in his throat.  _ Fuck _ , he didn’t want Jet to see him like this. 

Jet reached out his hands.

“Let me—” 

“Fuck off,” Zuko snarled, batting away his hands. “I don’t need you.”

“Zuko, let me help you.”

“I’d rather die.”

Jet stilled, his shoulders seizing. If Zuko had looked up, maybe he would see the pain flash across Jet’s eyes. But he hadn’t. He had fallen to the ground now, hands scraping across the dirt—but he couldn’t even feel the earth scratching his palms open, rubbing his skin and emotions raw. There was an ugly feeling in his throat, threatening to spill over and out of his eyes, and he hated it. He hated feeling so weak. He hated feeling so lost. He hated being so confused.

“Fuck.”

“Zuko…”

If he could’ve said something, he would have told Jet not to say his name. Not to say his name like it still meant something to him. Not to look at him with something other than pity and condescension. Not to behold him at his weakest. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak. Nothing would come out of his mouth. With his face in his hands, he looked to the earth instead of the sky.

“Zuko,” Jet urged once more. “Come with me.”

Zuko didn’t argue this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now you know the true motivation of sokka "leaving", and isn't it just dandy how one misunderstanding can lead to a whole series of events?
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	17. The Haze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sighed, a soft sound echoing through the dark. He was glad he told Zuko that he liked him. He didn’t know if he would ever get a chance to again if he hadn’t. He had left too much unspoken to give up now. He wasn’t going to just lay down and die.  
> Sokka closed his eyes, but it wasn’t a gesture of surrender.  
> He had to get back.  
>  _He had to find Zuko._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post a chapter yesterday oops.

The low and dimmed sounds of shuffling outside the door melted away into the oppressive yellow of the sunset. The shadows had shifted into long and bleak shapes across the bedspread, creeping up the wardrobe and painting the wood door black. The window was still open, letting in the cool evening breeze, only a mild balm to the sweat that plastered Sokka’s forehead and arms as he lay on the floor, restless. His knee had been throbbing throughout the course of the day, which was really no help when you were desperately trying not to make a sound just in case you got eaten by wandering corpses. He reckoned it was just a sprain, which wasn’t all too uncommon for his knees. They had always been susceptible to injuries like these, and his knee would heal with rest and some time. Or maybe he was just telling himself that because he didn’t dare think of the alternative.

The room smelled deceptively unremarkable at first, but it took Sokka a day to realize that it was just hiding, like the rest of the house. When you spent long enough within the safety of its four gray walls, the smells started to come out of hiding. The soft turn of a cotton pillowcase. The light but settled burn of wood. The lingering touch of freshly-hung laundry. The shaved wood of graphite pencils. The dusty settling of old paper and wool. Sokka had spent the majority of his time picking out these little details that tickled his nose and his imagination. This was Zuko’s room. It was crazy to think that just a year ago or even shorter than that, Zuko had once stood in this very room, had slept in this very room, had called it home even. 

_ Zuko _ .

Sokka couldn’t bear to think about it. Zuko must be long gone by now. Had he been confused? Afraid? Distressed? Had he waited for Sokka? Sokka pressed his face into his arm. Memories from the night before plagued his racing mind. The feeling of Zuko’s warmth pressed up against his front and under his arm, held close to him in the lonely night. The nervous shifting that kept Sokka from falling asleep completely, one that he found extremely endearing. The shocked look and wide eyes that Zuko had given him in the dark when he told him to relax.

Sokka breathed in shakily. Zuko had looked so peaceful and calm when Sokka awoke in the morning. The furrow in his brow had eased out, and he was clinging onto the makeshift pillow and Sokka’s shoulder, and he probably hadn’t even been aware of it. It would have been a crime to wake him up. Sokka knew how hard Zuko found it to fall asleep these days. Zuko didn’t know it, but Sokka had been awake all those times he woke up gasping and shaking in the middle of the night, trembling from a nightmare. If only he had known how much Sokka longed to just turn over and pull him close, to rub the bad dreams out of his head and hold him until he fell asleep again. Sokka couldn’t bear to see Zuko so tired in the day either, the dark circles around his eyes and the blank stares betray his true state even if he told Sokka he was okay.

The light was fast fading, retreating back out the window as the shadows took over. He had intended to return before dawn, he really had. And now it was already dusk.

Sokka ran his hand over the box. It felt heavy in his lap. He had managed to salvage it, barely a crease or a wrinkle on its hard cardboard surface. He had only opened it twice—the first was to check if he had the right box, and the second to ensure that all the photographs were still intact. He hadn’t dared to look further, lest he cross even more of a line by looking at something that Zuko found so personal and dear. He was already pushing it by being here, inside a sacred space, inside the very room that Zuko had probably spent most of his life in. 

Craning his neck, Sokka looked out the window. 

The hill was so close. Just across the grassy field, shrouded in the dying light of the sun. It was so fucking close and he couldn’t do anything about it. His only way out was through the window, just a little jump and the soft grass might even cushion his fall and he’d be on his way back to Zuko’s side. 

He moved his leg and he winced.

Sokka hated feeling so helpless.

He couldn’t help but feel as if he had let Zuko down. He had been coasting on the high of confessing, of finally letting that secret that had been eating away at his insides out, of finally telling Zuko more about his feelings than he could ever have hoped to—that he had simply forgotten all the things that went into baring his soul and stripping his heart open. It was a lengthy process, and one that Sokka hadn’t always understood. He supposed he could understand Zuko’s aversion to sentiment, or at least in the past he would have empathized. Sokka used to think that feelings were a burden. Emotion was weakness. People who opened up to others just like that were horrible fools. He supposed he had seen his fair share of cynicism back in the days. Wasn’t it funny that the literal end of the world was what got him to finally dial back the skepticism and let himself feel for real? 

And feel he did. Sokka had never speculated too much on the meaning of true love, nor did he let his inner debates and theories about his actual feelings towards people affect his relationships with them. He supposed that there were many different kinds of love, and they were all different too with different people. He wasn’t qualified to commentate on romantic affectations, but with nobody around to spectate his thoughts, he could think more freely about it now. He did feel guilty about it sometimes, when he would think about what romance and relationships and intimate things like those meant—as if he was intruding in on a world that he never thought he would belong to. 

The kind of love he felt for Zuko was a kind that he never felt before. He couldn’t possibly put it in words, no, but he thought about it almost every moment of his waking hours now. Not once had he doubted whether he loved Zuko or not. He knew how serious it was, the word  _ love _ . The meaning of love. The implications of love. Back where he came from, love was treated as something sacred and uniting, something that wasn’t to be joked about. Maybe that was how he knew he loved Zuko. Sokka would never play around with something as important as someone’s heart. He hadn’t always been in touch with his own, but he was confident that he knew what he was feeling. Love. He wanted to wake up next to Zuko every day. He wanted to tell Zuko all his thoughts and theories and jokes. He wanted to hold Zuko close in his darkest times and stay until the bad thoughts went away, and even then he still wouldn’t let go. He wanted to travel the world with Zuko, even if it didn’t exist anymore. Was that not enough to love someone with?

Sokka slid down a little further, pulling his knees up to his face slowly.

Did Zuko feel the same? Sokka had been convinced that it didn’t matter to him whether Zuko liked him back or not, that he would be okay staying with Zuko as a friend. He had been so convinced that he had forgotten to think about whether it mattered to  _ Zuko _ . He didn’t know if Zuko loved him back, but he had said that he liked him back. That was more than Sokka could’ve even hoped for, even if Zuko couldn’t be with him. Yet, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was being unfair? Did he force Zuko to tell him that by confessing? Maybe Zuko hadn’t been ready to tell him. Was that why he had been acting a little strange and distant back at camp?

Feeling the nasty swarm of thoughts starting to descend on his conscious mind, Sokka chose to turn his head towards better memories instead. The first time they met in that damn hotel room. The tour of the pantry and bantering about snacks. Getting out of the hotel and finding that apartment. Falling asleep in the same room for the first time. Going on the grocery run and running for their lives. Surviving Jet and the Freedom Fighters. Sitting on the pier by the sea.  _ Kissing _ . Running into the Kyoshi Warriors. Watching the sun go down together.  _ Cuddling _ . Falling asleep right next to each other for the first time. It was all so magical.

He sighed, a soft sound echoing through the dark. He was glad he told Zuko that he liked him. He didn’t know if he would ever get a chance to again if he hadn’t. He had left too much unspoken to give up now. He wasn’t going to just lay down and die.

Sokka closed his eyes, but it wasn’t a gesture of surrender.

He had to get back.

_ He had to find Zuko. _

Zuko had made a lot of mistakes in his relatively short lifetime. Especially when it came to people. He played an awfully good game at blending in and moving with the crowd, stumbling through life and keeping his head above water, trying to find his way in the world of people whom he felt so far from. He felt like a meteorite while everyone else were planets or moons or stars, just hurtling through a soundless space with no clear destination in mind, passing everyone by.

He had been running his whole life—from people, from responsibilities, from the truth, from himself. Time just felt like a constantly ticking meter that was always broken somewhere in his world. Sometimes his days felt like they were going by too fast, so fast that they were whizzing past him and he couldn’t even catch up. Other times life felt too slow, like he was clinging on excruciatingly to every second on the clock and the sun didn’t move in the sky. Everything around him was constantly changing, but everything around him was still the same. He felt trapped, but he also felt like he couldn’t stay in one place for too long. He felt like he could float off at any minute and vanish into the endless expanse of sky, but he also felt like he could sink into the ground and get swallowed up by the earth at any second. He didn’t know when or why he started running, but when it all got too much, the running was all he knew.

There were no stars in the sky tonight. Only the cold, dark silhouettes of the cooling towers surrounded the edges of his vision as he peered out into the unknown. There were shadows moving about in the darkness—people whom he used to know, people whom he used to laugh with and eat with, people he had once considered  _ friends _ . Now, the Freedom Fighters didn’t even dare approach him, and not even Smellerbee had come close. They tinkered about in the shadows, everybody’s head down and focusing on their tasks. They knew better than to talk to Zuko while he was lost in his emotions. 

“Zuko.”

_ Of course he would be the one to try. _

“I’m not leaving until you explain what’s going on.”

Zuko scoffed.

“You may not believe it, but I’m worried about you,” Jet said, sitting next to Zuko. “And I’m worried about Sokka too. Tell me what happened.”

Zuko refused to look him in the eye. Every time Zuko thought about Sokka—about him confessing, about him smiling, about him leaving—it made something inside him writhe and turn and kick and scream and threaten to crawl out of his throat if he didn’t get it under control. He hadn’t even confronted the truth himself, and now Jet was asking him to say it out loud? 

“I know you don’t trust me,” Jet said. 

Zuko gave him a pointed look.

“But at least trust yourself,” Jet continued. “Trust that you know how much to tell me without hurting yourself.”

Zuko looked away, conflicted. This wasn’t sentiment. This wasn’t kindness. This was just another one of Jet’s nicely-worded speeches, designed to make foolish people like Zuko trust—

“I never forgot what you said.”

Zuko stilled.

“About me not knowing a thing about you,” Jet clarified. 

An uneasy silence hung between them.

“It’s true, I think. I don’t know you anymore, Zuko.”

“Your point being?” Zuko’s voice came out scratchy and hoarse.

“So tell me,” Jet said. “Tell me what I don’t know about you.”

Zuko’s defences dropped for a moment. Then, he retreated even further.

“You don’t need to know  _ anything _ about me.”

Jet looked away, suppressing a sigh. 

“Look, I’m not going to pretend I want to know you again or some shit like that, I don’t want to pretend that we’re going to be friends. But I sure as hell know that you’ve been through some shit since I last saw you, and I’ve been through shit too since this whole end of the world shit started, so unless we’re gonna sit here and pretend everything is okay, you’re gonna tell me what happened to you.”

Zuko sat up. That was more like Jet.

“I don’t know where Sokka is.”

There, he said it. Like an idiot. Now Jet knew why he was so torn up about it like some weak coward who couldn’t even handle something that was probably bound to happen. He felt so stupid. The first time he thought he’d found someone he didn’t have to run away from,  _ they _ had run away from him instead. The universe was mocking him.

“What, did he get taken away? Eaten by a zombie?” Jet asked.

“I don’t know, okay!” Zuko folded his arms defensively. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Jet looked over at Zuko, clearly trying to gauge what he was thinking, or feeling.

“We’ll find him,” Jet said. “First thing tomorrow, we’ll go out with a search party. Just tell me where and when and we’ll go from there.”

Zuko knew it wasn’t an empty promise. Jet always did what he said he was going to do. Somehow that made it even worse.

“ _ Don’t _ .”

“Why not?”

“It’ll only make things worse,” Zuko snapped. “I told you to stay out of my business.”

“Yet you agreed to come with me,” Jet said.

“That wasn’t my choice.”

“You’re still here.”

“I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning,” Zuko said. “You don’t have to worry about me getting all up in your hair or something.”

“Actually, I was going to offer you a choice.”

Zuko’s eyes darkened. That never meant anything good.

“What?” He had a feeling he was going to regret asking.

“Stay.” Jet’s face was serious. “Stay here with us. Join us.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Zuko said, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“On the contrary,” Jet replied. “I’ve had time to think this through.”

“And you thought I would join your band of misguided heroes?”

“You flatter us,” Jet said. “But no. I didn’t think you’d agree, but now?”

“Now what?”

“Sokka’s not here anymore. He wouldn’t have joined us, but you? You’ve known us for years.”

Zuko’s mouth opened in blatant outrage.

“You think I would make decisions based on what Sokka wanted?”

“I didn’t say that,” Jet said. “I just said he wasn’t here anymore.”

“ _ I know that,  _ thanks.” Zuko’s voice was on edge.

“What’s stopping you?”

“Have you ever considered the idea of personal morals, Jet?” Zuko scoffed. “I still have enough decency to keep myself from becoming one of you.”

“I still think you should stick around,” Jet said. “Get a better idea of what we do. Not all of it is killing zombies, you know. I’m giving you a chance to help people, to help those like us who are struggling out there. We could make change together. It’s not too late.”

Zuko wasn’t completely heartless, but the thought of helping people hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Doesn’t make it any better.”

“I know,” Jet sighed. “But where are you going to go?”

“I don’t know,” Zuko admitted. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

“You don’t have to keep running, Zuko.”

“It’s people like you who make sure I always will,” Zuko murmured bitterly.

Jet looked down at the ground, clearly trying to get a grip.

“I know you believe in second chances.”

“There’s a difference between giving someone a second chance and making a mistake.”

“I’m trying to right my wrongs now.” Jet stood up. “You don’t see it yet, but I can tell you need this just as much as I do. You’re not the only one with demons from the past.”

Zuko looked down. They hadn’t exactly left off in the best state. Closure wasn’t something he had deemed necessary in his own life, but maybe it was because he never got any. For the longest time, he had convinced himself that he had actually liked Jet, and more. Maybe it was true, maybe it was not, but he certainly hadn’t been ready to face his past a while back. 

“I know you’re angry, so I won’t force you to give me an answer,” Jet said. “You’re free to either join us or leave in the morning. Think about it.”

He said nothing more, turning to leave.

Zuko looked up to the starless sky—a flame flickering weakly among the ashes of his heart.

He knew he could never be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the story goes on. I love writing zukka together but I also love writing them apart filled with painful yearning and memories from the past so here you go.
> 
> I love how Jet's first response when Zuko told him that Sokka was gone was to ask whether he was taken away by zombies instead of, y'know he just left.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)


	18. The Setting Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko had slipped back into the routine of it all, doing his tasks and following the rotation of roles with relative ease. Structure was what he needed now. It took his mind off his emotions. He woke up in the same dusty old room, ate like a king, went on his patrol routes, swept up the control rooms with Pipsqueak, inspected the towers and monitoring for equipment failure with Longshot, learnt the best way to maximize food resources with Smellerbee, avoiding needless interaction with Jet—it was the same every day. The week started to feel more like a month, and he was starting to get used to the rhythm of the day, working alongside the Freedom Fighters.  
>  _It was as if he had never left at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me be real here, I didn't use any references of Jet or rewatch any atla scenes with Jet to recreate his character but I think I managed to flesh out his character.

Zuko wiped the sweat off his brow, padding over the barren dirt ground of the power plant. The sun was out full force today, glaring down onto his back as he started his second round of perimeter patrol. A few weeds were stubbornly poking out of the sandy soil that breached in through the electric fence, the only signs of life around. 

It had been a week since he had decided to stay with the Freedom Fighters. They had welcomed him back with nothing more than a pat on the back (Smellerbee) and a chorus of grunts (Pipsqueak) and stares (Longshot). He had been quickly introduced to the tasks and chores they did around the plant, as well as their missions outside of the plant. It was apparent that the systematic approach the Fighters thrived on hadn’t fallen apart since the wave hit, and had survived the trials of time. They were just as structured and organized as they had been four years ago,  _ better _ even. No slip-ups were permitted, and every one was to carry out their delegated roles to their best efforts. That’s how they kept the power plant up and running. As much as he loathed to say it, Jet knew what he was doing.

Zuko had slipped back into the routine of it all, doing his tasks and following the rotation of roles with relative ease. Structure was what he needed now. It took his mind off his emotions. He woke up in the same dusty old room, ate like a king, went on his patrol routes, swept up the control rooms with Pipsqueak, inspected the towers and monitoring for equipment failure with Longshot, learnt the best way to maximize food resources with Smellerbee, avoiding needless interaction with Jet—it was the same every day. The week started to feel more like a month, and he was starting to get used to the rhythm of the day, working alongside the Freedom Fighters. 

_ It was as if he had never left at all. _

Today was different, though. It was the first time he would be joining them on a trade mission out in the downtown regions of the city. He would get to see the other survivor camps. By no means was he excited about joining the Freedom Fighters, but the thought of getting to see how other people made a life in the apocalypse did ignite a feeble spark of interest inside him. Maybe it was because he had lost his own way, and was just secretly hoping that the paths that others had chosen would kick his gears back into action and he’d be on his lone way again. Even then, it didn’t stop him from feeling just a tiny bit anticipatory about the mission.

He hurried along the fence and back to the cooling towers.

“You ready?” Jet called out to him.

Zuko fastened on his backpack.

“Yeah.”

Jet nodded to the rest of the Fighters who would be coming with—Longshot, The Duke, Pipsqueak. It was Smellerbee’s turn to stay behind today. Someone had to be at the plant at all times, just in case of emergencies. It had been Zuko and another Fighter the first few days, just to make sure he wasn’t going to desert the plant while they were away.

True to his word, he was still here.

“Let’s go.”

They took a route over the grassy expanse on the other side of the plant, the one that led to the very edges of the city—where the highways that led to the industrial parks were. The salty smell of the ocean drifted in on the hot afternoon wind as they crossed the long stretch of deserted road and came to a stop at the mouth of the biggest highway. Cars lay abandoned and smashed up along the way. Pipsqueak and the Duke would lean in occasionally to check for anything worth taking. Jet had no interest in the petty valuables one could find in the cars, but he didn’t stop them either. Zuko supposed that theft wasn’t exactly a problem in the apocalypse if nobody was around to claim their stuff.

“We’re climbing down here.”

“Here?” Zuko peered over the edge of the highway bridge. 

“Yeah, we’re making a stop.”

With sweaty palms, Zuko slid down until he found a maintenance ladder—barely anything more than metal rungs carved into the concrete—with which he followed Jet down into a dim crevasse, shielded from the merciless sun by the highway overhead. They landed in a fairly large space, one that smelled of motor oil and something salty. There was a clicking sound in the distance, and human-like shapes moving about. It took Zuko’s eyes a little adjusting to accommodate the dim light of a bulb.

“The Mechanist.”

“He’s helping the survivors here build a new lighting rig,” Jet explained. “We’re here to get him back safely to the city, and then the real trading mission can begin.”

“Huh.” Zuko nodded.

The Mechanist was hard at work, deeply immersed in the parts laid out before him on the floor. It was a curious sight, an old man with a metal hand picking and poking at electrical parts as a small circle of children gathered around him to watch. 

“They’re just children,” Zuko said.

“Yeah,” Jet said. “He doubles as a babysitter of some kind while the adults are away. Big fatherly energy or something like that.”

“Handy.”

Zuko stood aside, opting to watch from afar while the rest hung out near the entrance, legs dangling over the rocks and the water far below. He had no idea how any sort of electrical engineering worked, but it was still fascinating to watch the Mechanist piece parts together and hum with approval when he appeared to find something that worked. If Sokka were here, he would understand. Maybe even lean over and tell Zuko what he thought. Propose a few theories or reminisce about his school days. Make some infuriatingly witty comments.

But he wasn’t. 

Zuko slid down against the rough wall. He missed Sokka, and that much he knew for sure. Even if Sokka didn’t like him any more, or even hated him—whatever reason he had for leaving—Zuko knew he could never be angry at him, even if the pain inside wasn’t dulling anytime soon. He didn’t know exactly what to feel about it all. Hurt? Betrayed? Sad? Devastated? Maybe all of it at once.

He looked over at Jet and his Fighters. Even Longshot had joined them, unwrapping a rice snack as he remained quiet, spectating the debate that Jet had started between Pipsqueak and the Duke. They were comfortable with each other, clearly. 

He would never be a part of them, even if he had chosen to stay. He had given up that chance a long, long time ago—and not a bone in his body regretted it. 

“I’m finished,” the Mechanist stood up abruptly.

Zuko shrunk back to let him pass, but he found a hand on his shoulder instead.

“Come, boy. It’s time to go back into the city.”

Zuko offered him a sheepish look, one that could be grateful if he were a better person.

“We’re heading out,” Jet announced.

They had climbed back up to the highway, having taken a longer time with the Mechanist struggling on the precarious metal rungs. Zuko dreaded to think what would happen if the old man had fallen. The Mechanist still had more life in his eyes than Zuko could say for himself, but his body was still that of an old man—frail and weakening by the day. Two men from the surviving party under the bridge had been deployed to follow them up. Safety in numbers, and all that. They were helpful and friendly, but he could tell that they would fight for their own survival over others’ if they had to. 

“We’ll take the road into the city,” Jet announced.

“Wouldn’t that leave us exposed?” One of the men spoke up.

“It’s better than moving through the falling buildings,” Jet said. “Unless you’d like to be crushed by concrete or trapped in the city when the sun sets.”

The man politely shook his head.

“On we go, then.”

They were a strange procession, a silent march of determination through the middle of the city. Jet would shift a piece of debris quietly out of the way, keeping at the front. The Mechanist was right behind him, surrounded on both sides by Pipsqueak and the Duke. Longshot kept to his own behind them all, sharp eyes darting around. The two men were walking in silence, and Zuko wondered if they were used to all this. He knew for sure that he wasn’t. It was strange being around so many people, but it seemed that they were all accustomed to the unspoken laws of the city. They couldn’t make a sound. It would be a death wish. It felt like even the buildings around them were holding their breath.

Jet raised his hand, a signal that they were almost there.

_ Crack _ !

All eyes whipped around back to Longshot, who had knocked a piece of rubble onto the road. A flash of panic ran through his eyes, mirrored by Jet’s own. The sound may as well have been a gunshot, a resounding thwack that echoed through the empty expanse. 

Fuck. 

Every hair on Zuko’s skin stood up. There was nowhere to hide.

The wind whistled through the streets. 

No zombies showed up.

The man beside him let out a sigh of silent relief. Zuko hadn’t even realized that he had been holding his own breath. His heart was beating so fast and so hard that he wasn’t entirely convinced that everyone else couldn’t hear it. Now  _ that _ just took five years off his lifespan.

Jet looked around, checking if everyone was still alive.

When he was done, he prepared to raise his hand again—the signal to move, and  _ quick _ .

He didn’t even get a chance to.

The zombie leapt out of seemingly nowhere, jumping on Pipsqueak as it thrashed and chomped, trying to get a bite in. Pipsqueak bashed at it with his fists, careful to avoid its gaping jaws as he hurled it back down onto the ground, all the while trying to wrestle out of its death grip. 

“Fall back, fall back!” Jet called out.

There was no use being quiet now. They were all around.

Zuko jumped behind a car.  _ Here we go again _ .

“Longshot!”

The boy leapt up onto the hood of a car, drawing his bow with lightning speed. He let loose a few arrows into the heads of the nearest zombies, but the madness had only just begun.

“They’re coming out of the buildings!”

They had no choice but to fight.

Zuko drew his machetes. 

“ _ Arrrrrrgh! _ ”

The sound of metal meeting flesh ricocheted through the air.

It’s been a while since he’s last fought a zombie, but once you’ve fought one, there was no such thing as going back. It was part of him now, a knowledge that sunk deep in his bones and rippled through his tired muscles. His body was accustomed to the motions now. Slash and duck. Jump and kick. Cut and slice. Like a plague that haunted his body in his sleep, kept him on edge even when he was safe. To know how to fight could be both a blessing and a curse, but right now? It was a  _ drug _ .

Zuko let the feelings take over. The anger that bubbled deep inside. The hurt that pulsed at the surface of all his conscious thoughts. The bitterness that penetrated his walls. All of it flooding out of his cells and charging to the forefront of his mind, fuelling his drive to survive. He had survived this long not because of hope, but because of what he’s been through. He was  _ not _ going to die here. He would survive, with or without Sokka.

He drove his machetes through the center of a zombie’s head. It squealed, and his face contorted in disgust. With a quick slash of his blades, he opened up its head, its brains spilling out onto the concrete and tumbling a good distance away. Zuko’s head was empty now, all his thoughts draining away and replaced by one: survive. Fight.  _ Kill _ . 

Longshot had paused to stare, but he was back to his arrows before Zuko could turn around.

Zuko moved on to the next.

He stabbed his machete straight through the heart of the next zombie. It seized up in surprise, limbs going slack when he withdrew his blade. For good measure, he drove his other machete through its chest again and again, satisfied only when it collapsed to the ground oozing a blood so dark it was practically black.  _ Let’s see how it would survive with no heart.  _ He didn’t need anyone. He had always fought for himself. Why would it be different this time?

The men and the Mechanist had turned to look at him. They were hidden out of sight behind another car, the Mechanist surrounded by the two men. Zuko had long surmised that he was incapable of fighting zombies on his own. That’s where the Freedom Fighters came in.

The next zombie that came at him was at perfect range for his machetes to run right through its neck. The strangled choking sound it made was halted when he kicked it in the torso, driving his blades repeatedly into its windpipe and cutting off its ugly voice.  _ Stab _ .  _ Stab _ .  _ Stab _ . Its blood spurted out in streams and onto his blades as it went down. He wouldn’t have met Sokka if not for the end of the world. Maybe he would be better off if he hadn’t. 

“Woah.” Even Jet looked shocked. “Keep doing that. We just might win this.”

“Shut  _ up _ , Jet,” Zuko huffed, his vision swimming. “Or I’ll cut you down too.”

“Just saying. That’s how we do things around here,” Jet grunted, slamming his own sword into another zombie. His twin hooks were best together, effective when they had the other to drive his powerful slashes. The hooks themselves worked well in tripping zombies up, leaving them vulnerable to the sword part of his hooks. 

“I’m not one of you!” Zuko yelled, charging into the next.

“Yet we’re killing it together,” Jet shouted back, jumping onto a zombie. “ _ Literally _ .”

“Now is hardly the time for puns!” Zuko yelled again, with disdain.

Jet grunted in agreement, swinging his hooks into the next zombie. Zuko hated to admit it, but they did make a pretty good team. Jet had always been familiar with his fighting style, as he was with Jet’s. They made up for each other’s shortcomings—Jet was a faster thinker and he knew to cover Zuko’s left, and Zuko was more agile, able to cut at the zombies that Jet couldn’t when he wasn’t facing them.

With the combined efforts of the Freedom Fighters, the zombies were cut down after a gruelling tussle with the horde. 

Jet did the unthinkable: he  _ laughed _ .

Zuko was taken aback, machetes at his side.

“Fuck, man,” Jet declared.

Zuko squinted at him.

“Maybe I’ve been underestimating your—”

The screams cut him off.

A zombie lunged towards the men behind the car, catching them off guard.

“Hey!’ Jet bounded towards the zombie, waving his hands frantically.

It continued to gnash at the Mechanist.

“Jet!”

With a grunt, Jet pushed the Mechanist out of the way, the two of them rolling on the ground and just out of the way of its jaws. If everyone hadn’t been looking on in shock, they wouldn’t have seen him make the switch. With a deft swipe of his leg, Jet had knocked one of the men directly into the path of the incoming zombie, giving him time to get the Mechanist out of the way. 

The zombie’s teeth sank into the man’s skull.

The man’s screams died out as he started to thrash under the merciless jaws of the zombie.

“He’s gonna turn!” Someone cried out.

Longshot stepped forward with two arrows in hand.

With the vacant face as he usually wore, he put both the zombie and the man out of their misery.

Zuko was gaping now.  _ What in the fucking hell just happened _ ?

“There are more coming!” 

Jet’s eyes darkened.

“ _ Get him out of here! _ ” He yelled at Zuko.

Too taken aback to argue, Zuko grabbed the Mechanist by the shoulder. He was running along on pure instinct now. Dragging the old man away from the chaos, they weaved through the remaining cars and ducked into the ruins of a building.

It was a long and tense while before the party found them—one man short. 

“Regroup,” Jet said, breathing heavily. “We have to be out of here in a few minutes.”

Zuko walked up and pushed him in the chest.

“ _ What was that _ ?”

“What was what?” Jet said, gasping for air as he glared at Zuko.

“You got him killed!”

Zuko’s outburst turned the group’s eyes towards him.

“It was a necessary sacrifice.”

“Sacrifice?” Zuko’s voice quavered. “ _ Sacrifice _ ? Someone is dead and you’re talking about sacrifice? You have less of a heart than I expected.”

“Would you rather they both died?” Jet yelled, gesturing to the Mechanist. 

“Well,  _ no _ , but—”

“Let me guess, it doesn’t make it  _ right _ ?” Jet snapped.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Zuko refused to back down.

“Look, you would’ve done it too, okay?” Jet said, trying to calm down. 

“No, no I wouldn’t!”

“You don’t know  _ anything _ ,” Jet said, looking very much like he was one second away from losing his composure. “I had my reasons.”

“ _ What _ reasons?” Zuko yelled. 

A flash of something crossed Jet’s eyes.

“We’ll take this outside.”

Zuko looked back at the rest of the party. Nobody was saying a thing. The other Fighters had gone quiet. The other man present looked shaken. The Mechanist looked like he had something to say, but he turned away. With a huff, he followed Jet into a narrow corridor formed by collapsed pillars.

“What reasons?” Zuko echoed, a challenging stare in his eyes.

“You have no right to put me in a corner like that in front of everybody,” Jet said, voice dangerously low. “ _ No right _ .”

“You got one of us  _ killed _ ,” Zuko reminded. “I think I have plenty of right.”

“He wasn’t  _ one of us _ ,” Jet said, drawing out the technicality. “And I had to protect the old man.”

“But  _ I’m _ one of you now,” Zuko retorted. “Tell me what’s so important about the Mechanist!” 

“He helps people!” Jet hissed. “Haven’t you seen his work?”

Zuko could barely see the white of Jet’s eyes in the dim and stifled air of the corridor. The only source of light crept in through miniscule cracks from behind the pillars, barely reaching them through the rubble and the dust. 

“I think you’re not telling me the entire truth, Jet.”

Jet folded his arms. He wasn’t a liar.

“What’s going on? What are these  _ reasons _ you keep talking about?”

“Fine.” Jet’s face turned stormier. “ _ Fine _ . If you want to know so badly I’ll tell you.”

Zuko raised an eyebrow, waiting for some answers.

“The Mechanist is his father.”

Zuko was confused.

“His?”

“ _ Teo _ ,” Jet managed to say, as if saying that name was excruciating.

Zuko vaguely remembered something about the Mechanist’s son.

“Yeah, I heard. So?”

“Don’t you get it?” Jet frowned. “Teo’s dead, and  _ it’s all my fault _ .”

“What?”

“Teo was supposed to— _ I _ was supposed to protect him—” Jet choked. His anger was coming through in his voice. Zuko stilled. Jet’s anger wasn’t one of spite, or hatred, or vengeance this time. It was one of  _ hurt _ . “I was supposed to protect him from them, I was supposed to keep him by my side, but I—”

_ By my side _ ? 

“I failed. I failed him.”

Zuko did not back away. He was familiar with Jet’s anger.

“Fuck.  _ They  _ took him away from me,” Jet snarled. “No matter how many I kill they just keep coming back.”

A bolt of revelation struck Zuko in the back. 

“But he won’t ever come back,” Jet said. “ _ Nothing _ can bring him back.”

_ That _ was why Jet was so hellbent on killing zombies.  _ Teo _ . This boy he spoke about, clearly he mattered to Jet, whose death was enough to drive him to such cruel extremes. Zuko knew something was amiss. Despite what he might say, Jet wasn’t heartless. He cared, too much sometimes, and it was this care that drove him to become who Zuko had come to hate and love.

“He made me promise,” Jet’s voice was shaking now. “He made me promise to take care of his father when he was gone. He was just  _ there _ , and the next second he was gone. He died in my arms. And I couldn’t do anything about it.”

Zuko furrowed his brow. This was one of the rare times that Jet slipped. When he was no longer pretending that he was okay, or that he was this strong and powerful leader that could do anything he set his mind to. This was the side that Jet guarded fiercely from the world. This was the side that Zuko wished Jet had shown him more of. This was the side that Zuko had  _ fallen for _ . 

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?” Zuko asked.

“Like you’re trying to have pity for me when you have none.”

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Zuko said.

Jet looked away, trying to suppress the emotion in his eyes.

“I lost him too, you know.”

Jet remained still, but Zuko could tell that he was listening.

“Sokka. I lost him.”

“At least he didn’t die in your arms,” Jet murmured, the edge of anger in his voice dying out, replaced by a sorrow bitterness that just made him sound sad. 

“Well, I don’t even know if he’s dead. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know why he left. I don’t know  _ anything _ .”

Jet looked at him.

“That sucks too.”

That was as much empathy as he was going to get from Jet.

“Yeah, it really does.”

They stood in the silence of the dusty ruins. Two boys who hadn’t quite learnt how to love themselves, much less each other. They had both found somebody else—people with much more love to give than they could ever have for each other. The world hadn’t been kind to either of them, but they were still here, doing what they always knew from the start: surviving. In the palpable tension between them, Zuko understood one thing: they were never meant to work out. Too much stood in their way—most of all themselves. It had taken four years for him to understand this, but this was all the closure he needed.

“We should be going back.”

That told Zuko that it was all the closure Jet needed too.

They headed back through the dusty tunnel, emerging into the space where everyone was gathered. Everybody was ready to go, it seemed. They had recovered from the shock of the earlier events, and were standing around waiting for Jet and Zuko to show up.

They moved out through the same way they came in. 

“What are we trading today?” Zuko asked.

Jet paused, and hoisted the duffel bag off his shoulder.

“ _ Weapons _ .”

He unzipped it, revealing the shiny gleam of a frankly impressive array of weapons. From knives to tasers to shortswords, it looked like there was enough in the bag to weather five zombie apocalypses. Zuko felt an innate sense of bristling inside him when he saw the contents of the bag, but he pushed it down. Where did they even get this stuff? Did the Mechanist have any part to play here? So many questions, and no answers in sight. 

“Everyone deserves to be able to defend themselves,” Jet said.

“That we can agree on,” Zuko replied.

They moved out into the open, looking out for zombies. The chances of the party surviving another attack were not optimistic. They had to move fast and quietly.

“Something’s wrong,” Jet whispered.

“What do you—”

A blur swooped past.

“ _ The fuck was that _ ?”

The duffel bag was gone.

“It’s gone!”

“Secure the goods!” Jet commanded.

Everyone scrambled to hold onto their bags, but it was too late.

“No!”

In mere seconds, the bags were gone. The weapons!

“What was that?”

They had been taken by surprise.

If they could afford to make more noise, Jet would probably have yelled.

So would Zuko, if he hadn’t caught the briefest glimpse of the shape that had snatched his bag away from him. He might have been even more confused, had he not seen the flash of green that passed him by as it swung out of sight and vanished behind the building. The same green as a certain dusty softball uniform. He could recognize that green anywhere.

_ Kyoshi Warriors _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to make Jet more than an antagonistic character, and have a whole other life outside of just being Zuko's ex, and I feel like this chapter really brought both us and Zuko into the perspective of the complexities of his character. And if it wasn't obvious by now, yeah Jet loved Teo.
> 
> here are my [socials](https://thericeraven.carrd.co)

**Author's Note:**

> art by the amazing [beignetbenny](https://beignetbenny.tumblr.com/) and beta by the lovely [flydunes](https://flydunes.tumblr.com/)


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